INNER  Mioiisi 


DUKE  UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY 


The  Glenn  Negley  Collection 
of  Utopian  Literature 


^ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2010  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


http://www.archive.org/details/innerhouseOObesa 


THE  INNER  HOUSE 


BY 


WALTER  BE  S ANT 

Al'THOR   OF 

"the  world  went  vkry  well  then"  "for  faith  and  freedom' 
"all  sorts  and  fonditions  op  men  "  "  herr  paulus  "  etc. 


NEW    YORK 
HATU'ER    &    BROTHERS.   FRAXKLIX    SQUARE 

188S 


By   WALTER  BE  S ANT. 


ALL  m  A  GARDEN  FAIR.  4to,  Pa- 
per, 20  cents. 

ALL  SORTS  AND  CONDITIONS  OF 
MEN.  Illustrated.  4to,  Paper,  20 cents; 
12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

DOROTHY  FORSTER.  4to,  Paper,  20  cts. 

FIFTY  YEARS  AGO.    8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

FOR  FAITH  AND  FREEDOM.  Illus- 
trated. 12ino,  Cloth;  also,  8vo,  Paper. 
{In  I'ress.) 

HERR  PAULUS.    8vo,  Paper,  35  ceuts. 

KATHERINE  REQINA.  4to,  Paper, 
15  ceuts. 

LIFE  OF  COLIGNY.  32mo,  Paper,  25 
ceuts;  Cloth,  40  cent?. 

SELF  OR  BEARER.     4to,  Paper,  15  cts. 


"SO  THEY  WERE  MARRIED."  Il- 
lustrated.   4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 

THE  CAPTAIN'S  ROOM.  4to,  Paper, 
10  cents. 

THE  CHILDREN  OP  GIBEON.  4to, 
Paper,  20  cents. 

THE  HOLY  ROSE.    4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 

THE  INNER  HOUSE.  8vo,  Paper. 
{Just  Heady.) 

THE  WORLD  WENT  VERY  WELL 
THEN.  Illustrated.  4to,  Paper,  25 
cents;  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

TO  CALL  HER  MINE.  Illustrated. 
4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 

UNCLE  JACK  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 
12mo,  Paper,  25  cents. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

Any  of  tlw  above  works  ivill  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of 
the  United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


THE   INNER  HOUSE. 


PROLOGUE. 

AT  THE  ROYAL  L\STITUTION. 

"  Professor  !"  cried  the  Director,  rushing  to  meet  their 
guest  and  lecturer  as  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  the 
great  man  appeared,  calm  and  composed,  as  if  there  was 
nothing  more  in  the  wind  than  an  ordinary  Scientific 
Discourse.  "  You  are  always  welcome,  ray  friend,  always 
welcome" — the  two  enthusiasts  for  science  wrung  hands 
— "and  never  more  welcome  than  to-night.  Then  the 
great  mystery  is  to  be  solved  at  last.  The  Theatre  is 
crammed  with  people.  What  does  it  mean?  You  must 
tell  me  before  you  go  in." 

The  Physicist  smiled. 

"  I  came  to  a  conviction  that  I  was  on  the  true  line 
five  years  ago,"  he  said.  "It  is  only  within  the  last  six 
months  that  I  have  demonstrated  the  thing  to  a  certainty. 
I  will  tell  you,  my  friend,"  he  whispered,  "  before  we  go 
in." 

Then  he  advanced  and  shook  hands  with  the  President. 

"  Whatever  the  importance  of  your  Discovery,  Pro- 
fessor," said  the  President,  "  we  are  fully  sensible  of  the 
honor  you  have  done  us  in  bringing  it  before  an  English 
audience  first  of  all,  and  especially  before  an  audience  of 
the  Royal  Institution." 


4  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

"  Ja,  Ja,  Herr  President.  But  I  give  my  Discovery  to 
all  the  world  at  this  same  hour.  As  for  myself,  I  an- 
nounce it  to  my  very  good  friends  of  the  Royal  Institution. 
Why  not  to  my  other  very  good  friends  of  the  Royal 
Society  ?  Because  it  is  a  thing  which  belongs  to  the  whole 
world,  and  not  to  scientific  men  only." 

It  was  in  the  Library  of  the  Royal  Institution.  The 
President  and  Council  of  the  Institution  were  gathered 
together  to  receive  their  illustrious  lecturer,  and  every 
face  was  touched  with  interrogation  and  anxiety.  What 
was  this  Great  Discovery  ? 

For  six  months  there  had  appeared,  from  time  to  time, 
mysterious  telegrams  in  the  papers,  all  connected  with 
this  industrious  Professor's  laboratory.  Kothing  definite, 
nothing  certain :  it  was  whispered  that  a  new  discovery, 
soon  about  to  be  announced,  would  entirely  change  the 
relations  of  man  to  man  ;  of  nation  to  nation.  Those  who 
professed  to  be  in  the  secret  suggested  that  it  might  alter 
all  governments  and  abolish  all  laws.  Why  they  said  that 
I  know  not,  because  certainly  nobody  was  admitted  to  the 
laboratory,  and  the  Professor  had  no  confidant.  This  big- 
headed  man,  with  the  enormous  bald  forehead  and  the  big 
glasses  on  his  fat  nose — it  was  long  and  broad  as  well  as 
fat — kept  his  own  counsel.  Yet,  in  some  way,  people 
were  perfectly  certain  that  something  wonderful  was  com- 
ing. So,  when  Roger  Bacon  made  his  gunpowder,  the 
monks  might  have  whispered  to  each  other,  only  from  the 
smell  which  came  through  the  key-hole,  that  now  the  Devil 
would  at  last  be  met  upon  his  own  ground.  The  telegrams 
were  continued  with  exasperating  pertinacity,  until  over 
the  whole  civilized  world  the  eyes  of  all  who  loved  science 
were  turned  upon  that  modest  laboratory  in  the  little 
University  of  Ganzweltweisst  am  Rhein.     What  was  com- 


PROLOGUE.  5 

ing  from  it?  One  does  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  all 
interest  in  contemporary  business,  politics,  art,  and  letters 
ceased ;  but  it  is  quite  certain  that  every  morning  and 
every  evening,  when  everybody  opened  his  paper,  his  first 
thought  was  to  look  for  news  from  Ganzweltweisst  am 
Khein. 

But  the  days  passed  by,  and  no  news  came.  This  was 
especially  hard  on  the  leader-writers,  who  were  one  and 
all  waiting,  each  man  longing  to  have  a  cut  in  with  the 
subject  before  anybody  else  got  it.  But  it  was  good  for 
the  people  who  write  letters  to  the  papers,  because  they 
had  so  many  opportunities  of  suggestion  and  surmise. 
And  so  the  leader-writers  got  something  to  talk  about 
after  all.  For  some  suggested  that  Prof.  Schwarzbaum 
had  found  out  a  way  to  make  food  artificially,  by  chemically 
compounding  nitrogens,  phosphates,  and  so  forth.  And 
these  philosophers  built  a  magnificent  Palace  of  Imagina- 
tion, in  which  dwelt  a  glorified  mankind  no  longer  occu- 
pied in  endless  toil  for  the  sake  of  providing  meat  and 
drink  for  themselves  and  their  families,  but  all  engaged 
in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  and  in  Art  of  all  kinds,  such 
as  Fiction,  Poetry,  Painting,  Music,  Acting,  and  so  forth, 
getting  out  of  Life  such  a  wealth  of  emotion,  pleasure, 
and  culture  as  the  world  had  never  before  imagined. 
Others  there  were  who  thought  that  the  great  Discovery 
might  be  a  method  of  instantaneous  transmission  of  mat- 
ter from  place  to  place;  so  that,  as  by  the  electric  wire 
one  can  send  a  message,  so  by  some  kind  of  electric  method 
one  could  send  a  human  body  from  any  one  part  of  the 
world  to  any  other  in  a  moment.  This  suggestion  offered 
a  fine  field  for  the  imagination  ;  and  there  was  a  novel  writ- 
ten on  this  subject  which  had  a  great  success,  until  the 
Discovery  itself  was  announced.  Others,  again,  thought 
that  the  new  Discovery  meant  some  great  and  wonderful 


6  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

development  of  the  Destructive  Art;  so  that  the  whole 
of  an  army  might  be  blown  into  countless  fragments  by  the 
touch  of  a  button,  the  discharge  of  a  spring,  the  fall  of  a 
hammer.  This  took  the  fancy  hugely,  and  it  was  pleasant 
to  read  the  imaginary  developments  of  history  as  influ- 
enced by  this  Discovery.  But  it  seemed  certain  that  the 
learned  Professor  would  keep  it  for  the  use  of  his  own 
country.  So  that  there  was  no  longer  any  room  to  doubt 
that,  if  this  was  the  nature  of  the  Discovery,  the  whole  of 
the  habitable  world  must  inevitably  fall  under  the  Teu- 
tonic yoke,  and  an  Empire  of  Armed  Peace  would  set  in, 
the  like  of  which  had  never  before  been  witnessed  upon 
the  globe.  On  the  whole,  the  prospect  was  received  every- 
where, except  in  France  and  Russia,  with  resignation. 
Even  the  United  States  remembered  that  they  had  already 
many  millions  of  Germans  among  them ;  and  that  the 
new  Empire,  though  it  would  give  certainly  all  the  places 
to  these  Germans,  would  also  save  them  a  great  many 
Elections,  and  therefore  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  and  would 
relieve  the  national  conscience — long  grievously  oppressed 
in  this  particular — of  truckling  to  the  Irish  Vote.  Dyna- 
miters and  anarchists,  however,  were  despondent,  and  So- 
cialists regarded  each  other  with  an  ever-deepening  gloom. 
This  particular  Theory  of  the  great  Discovery  met,  in 
fact,  with  universal  credence  over  the  whole  civilized 
globe. 

Erom  the  great  man  himself  there  came  no  sign.  En- 
terprising interviewers  failed  to  get  speech  with  him. 
Scientific  men  wrote  to  him,  but  got  no  real  information 
in  reply.  And  the  minds  of  men  grew  more  and  more 
agitated.  Some  great  change  was  considered  certain — 
but  what? 

One  morning — it  was  the  morning  of  Thursday,  June 
20,  1890 — there   appeared    an    advertisement   in   the   pa- 


PROLOGUE. 


pers.  By  the  telegrams  it  was  discovered  that  a  similar 
advertisement  had  been  published  in  every  great  city  all 
over  the  world.  That  of  the  London  papers  differed 
from  others  in  one  important  respect — in  this,  namely : 
Professor  Schwarzbaum  would  himself,  without  any  de- 
lav,  read  before  a  London  audience  a  Paper  which  should 
i-eveal  his  new  Discovery.  There  was  not,  however,  the 
least  hint  in  the  announcement  of  the  nature  of  this  Dis- 
covery. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Physicist,  speaking  slowly,  "  I  have 
given  the  particulars  to  my  friends  over  the  whole 
earth ;  and,  as  London  is  still  the  centre  of  the  world, 
I  resolved  that  I  would  myself  communicate  it  to  the 
English." 

"  But  what  is  it  ?— what  is  it  ?"  asked  the  President. 

"The  Discovery,"  the  Professor  continued,  "is  to  be 
announced  at  the  same  moment  all  over  the  world,  so 
that  none  of  the  newspapers  shall  have  an  unfair  start. 
It  is  now  close  upon  nine  o'clock  by  London  time.  In 
Paris  it  is  ten  minutes  past  nine;  in  Berlin  it  is  six  min- 
utes before  ten  ;  at  St.  Petersburg  it  is  eleven  o'clock ; 
at  New  York  it  is  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  •  Very 
o-ood.  When  the  clock  in  your  theatre  points  to  nine  ex- 
actly, at  that  moment  everywhere  the  same  Paper  will 
be  read." 

In  fact,  at  that  moment  the  clock  began  to  strike.  The 
President  led  the  way  to  the  Theatre,  followed  by  the 
Council.  The  Director  remained  behind  with  the  Lect- 
urer of  the  evening. 

"  My  friend,"  said  Professor  Schwarzbaum,  "  ray  sub- 
ject is  nothing  less"— he  laid  his  finger  upon  the  Direc- 
tor's arm—"  nothing  less  than  '  The  Prolongation  of  the 
Vital  Energy.'  " 


8  THE   INNER  HOUSE, 

"What!  The  Prolongation  of  the  Vital  Energy?  Do 
you  know  what  that  means?"  The  Director  turned 
pale.     "Are  we  to  understand — " 

"  Come,"  said  the  Professor,  "  we  must  not  waste  the 
time." 

Then  the  Director,  startled  and  pale,  took  his  German 
brother  by  the  arm  and  led  him  into  the  Theatre,  mur- 
muring, "  Prolongation  .  .  .  Prolongation  .  ,  ,  Prolonga- 
tion ...  of  the  Vital— the  Vital— Energy  !" 

The  Theatre  was  crowded.  There  was  not  a  vacant 
seat :  there  was  no  more  standing  room  on  the  stairs ;  the 
very  doors  of  the  gallery  were  thronged :  the  great  stair- 
case was  thronged  with  those  who  could  not  get  in,  but 
waited  to  get  the  first  news.  Nay,  outside  the  Institu- 
tion, Albemarle  Street  was  crowded  with  people  waiting  to 
hear  what  this  ijreat  thine;  mio;ht  be  which  all  the  world 
had  waited  six  months  to  hear.  Within  the  Theatre,  what 
an  audience  !  For  the  first  time  in  English  history,  no 
respect  at  all  had  been  paid  to  rank :  the  people  gathered 
in  the  Theatre  were  all  that  the  great  City  could  boast 
that  was  distinguished  in  science,  art,  and  letters.  Those 
present  were  the  men  who  moved  the  world.  Among 
them,  naturally,  a  sprinkling  of  the  men  who  are  born  to 
the  best  things  of  the  world,  and  are  sometimes  told  that 
they  help  to  move  it.  There  were  ladies  among  the  com- 
pany too — ladies  well  known  in  scientific  and  literary  cir- 
cles, with  certain  great  ladies  led  by  curiosity.  On  the 
left-hand  side  of  the  Theatre,  for  instance,  close  to  the 
door,  sat  two  very  great  ladies,  indeed — one  of  them  the 
Countess  of  Thordisa,  and  the  other  her  only  daughter, 
the  Lady  Mildred  Carera.  Leaning  against  the  pillar 
beside  them  stood  a  young  man  of  singularly  handsome 
appearance,  tall  and  commanding  of  stature. 

"  To  you.  Dr.  Linister,"  said  the  Countess,  "  I  suppose 


PROLOGUE.  9 

everything  that  the  Professor  has  to  tell  us  will  be  al- 
ready well  known  ?" 

"  That,"  said  Dr.  Linister, "  would  be  too  much  to  ex- 
pect." 

"  For  me,"  her  Ladyship  went  on  delicately,  "•  I  love  to 
catch  Science  on  the  wing — on  the  wing— in  her  lighter 
moods,  when  she  has  something  really  popular  to  tell." 

Dr.  Linister  bowed.  Then  his  eyes  met  those  of  the 
beautiful  girl  sitting  below  him,  and  he  leaned  and  whis- 
pered, 

"I  looked  for  you  everywhere  last  night.  You  had 
led  me  to  understand — " 

"  We  went  nowhere,  after  all.  Mamma  fancied  she 
had  a  bad  cold.'" 

"  Then  this  evening.     May  I  be  quite — quite  sure  ?" 

His  voice  dropped,  and  his  fingers  met  hers  beneath  the 
fan.     She  drew  them  away  quickly,  with  a  blush. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered, "  you  may  find  me  to-night  at 
Lady  Chatterton's  or  Lady  Ingleby's." 

From  which  you  can  understand  that  this  young  Dr. 
Linister  was  quite  a  man  in  society.  He  was  young,  he 
Jiad  already  a  great  reputation  for  Biological  research,  he 
was  the  only  son  of  a  fashionable  physician,  and  he  would 
be  very  rich.  Therefore,  in  the  season,  Harry  Linister 
was  of  the  season. 

On  most  of  the  faces  present  there  sat  an  expression  of 
anxiety,  and  even  fear.  What  was  this  new  thing  ?  Was 
the  world  really  going  to  be  turned  upside  down  ?  And 
when  the  West  End  was  so  very  comfortable  and  its  posi- 
tion so  very  well  assured !  But  there  were  a  few  present 
who  rubbed  their  hands  at  the  thought  of  a  great  upturn 
of  everything.  Up  with  the  scum  first ;  when  that  had 
been  ladled  overboard,  a  new  arrangement  would  be  pos- 
sible, to  the  advantage  of  those  who  rubbed  their  hands. 


10  THE    INXEK   HOUSE. 

When  the  clock  struck  nine,  a  dead  silence  fell  upon  the 
Theatre ;  not  a  breath  was  heard ;  not  a  cough ;  not  the 
rustle  of  a  dress.  Their  faces  were  pale  with  expectancy  ; 
their  lips  were  parted ;  their  very  breathing  seemed  ar- 
rested. 

Then  the  President  and  the  Council  walked  in  and  took 
their  places. 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  said  the  President  shortly, 
"  the  learned  Professor  will  himself  communicate  to  you 
the  subject  and  title  of  his  Paper,  and  we  may  be  certain 
beforehand  that  this  subject  and  matter  will  adorn  the 
motto  of  the  Society — Illustrous  commoda  vitce" 

Then  Dr.  Schwarzbaura  stood  at  the  table  before  them 
all,  and  looked  round  the  room.  Lady  Mildred  glanced  at 
the  young  man,  Harry  Linister.  He  was  staring  at  the 
German  like  the  rest,  speechless.  She  sighed.  Women 
did  not  in  those  days  like  love-making  to  be  forgotten  or 
interrupted  by  anything,  certainly  not  by  science. 

The  learned  German  carried  a  small  bundle  of  papers, 
which  he  laid  on  the  table.  He  carefully  and  slowly  ad- 
justed his  spectacles.  Then  he  drew  from  his  pocket 
a  small  leather  case.  Then  he  looked  round  the  room 
and  smiled.  That  is  to  say,  his  lips  were  covered  with  a 
full  beard,  so  that  the  sweetness  of  the  smile  w^as  mostly 
lost;  but  it  was  observed  under  and  behind  the  beard. 
The  mere  ghost  of  a  smile ;  yet  a  benevolent  ghost. 

The  Lecturer  began,  somewhat  in  copy-book  fashion,  to 
remind  his  audience  that  everything  in  ISTature  is  born, 
grows  slowly  to  maturity,  enjoys  a  brief  period  of  full 
force  and  strength,  then  decays,  and  finally  dies.  The 
tree  of  life  is  first  a  green  sapling,  and  last  a  white  and 
leafless  trunk.  He  expatiated  at  some  length  on  the  growtli 
of  the  young  life.  He  pointed  out  that  methods  had  been 
discovered  to  hinder  that  growth,  turn  it  into  unnatural 


PROLOGUE.  11 

forms,  even  to  stop  and  destro}'  it  altogether.  lie  showed 
how  the  body  is  gradually  strengthened  in  all  its  parts; 
he  showed,  for  his  unscientific  hearers,  how  the  various 
parts  of  the  structure  assume  strength.  All  this  was 
familiar  to  most  of  his  audience.  Next  he  proceeded  to 
dwell  upon  the  period  of  full  maturity  of  bodily  and  men- 
tal strength,  which,  in  a  man,  should  last  from  twenty-five 
to  sixty,  and  even  beyond  that  time.  The  decay  of  the 
bodily,  and  even  of  the  mental  organs,  may  have  already 
set  in,  even  when  mind  and  body  seem  the  most  vigorous. 
At  this  period  of  the  discussion  most  of  the  audience 
were  beginning  to  flag  in  their  attention.  Was  such  a 
gathering  as  this  assembled  only  to  hear  a  discussion  on 
the  growth  and  decay  of  the  faculties  ?  But  the  Director, 
who  knew  what  was  coming,  sat  bolt  upright,  expectant. 
It  was  strange,  the  people  said  afterwards,  that  no  one 
should  have  suspected  what  was  coming.  There  was  to 
be,  everybody  knew,  a  great  announcement.  That  was 
certain.  Destruction,  Locomotion,  Food,  Transmission  of 
Thought,  Substitution  of  Speech  for  "Writing — all  these 
things,  as  has  been  seen,  had  been  suggested.  But  no  one 
even  guessed  the  real  nature  of  the  Discovery.  And  now, 
with  the  exception  of  the  people  who  always  pretend  to 
have  known  all  along,  to  have  been  favored  with  the  Great 
Man's  Confidence,  to  have  guessed  the  thing  from  the  out- 
set, no  one  had  the  least  suspicion. 

Therefore,  when  the  Professor  suddenly  stopped  short, 
after  a  prolix  description  of  wasting  power  and  wearied 
organs,  and  held  up  an  admonitory  finger,  everybody 
jumped,  because  now  the  Secret  was  to  be  divulged. 
They  had  come  to  hear  a  great  Secret. 

"  What  is  this  Decay  ?"  he  asked.  "  What  is  it  ?  AVhy 
does  it  begin  ?  What  laws  regulate  it  ?  What  check  can 
we  place  upon  it  ?     How  can  we  prevent  it  i     How  can 


12  THE  INNER  HOUSE. 

we  stay  its  progress?  Can  Science,  which  has  done  so 
much  to  make  Life  happy — which  has  found  out  so 
many  things  by  which  Man's  brief  span  is  crowded  with 
delightful  emotions — can  Science  do  no  more?  Cannot 
Science  add  to  these  gifts  that  more  precious  gift  of  all — 
the  lengthening  of  that  brief  span  ?" 

Here  everybody  gasped. 

"I  ask,"  the  speaker  went  on, "  whether  Science  cannot 
put  off  that  day  which  closes  the  eyes  and  turns  the  body 
into  a  senseless  lump  ?  Consider :  we  are  no  sooner  ar- 
rived at  the  goal  of  our  ambitions  than  we  have  to  go 
away;  we  are  no  sooner  at  the  plenitude  of  our  wisdom 
and  knowledge  than  we  have  to  lay  down  all  that  we 
have  learned  and  go  away — nay,  we  cannot  even  transmit 
to  others  our  accuumlations  of  knowledge.  They  are  lost. 
We  are  no  sooner  happy  with  those  we  love  than  we  have 
to  leave  them.  "We  collect,  but  cannot  enjoy  ;  we  inherit 
— it  is  but  for  a  day ;  we  learn,  but  we  have  no  time  to 
use  our  learning;  we  love — it  is  but  for  an  hour;  we  pass 
our  youth  in  hope,  our  manhood  in  effort,  and  we  die  be- 
fore we  are  old ;  we  are  strong,  but  our  strength  passes 
like  a  dream ;  we  are  beautiful,  but  our  beauty  perishes 
in  a  single  day.  Cannot,  I  ask  again — cannot  Science  pro- 
long the  Vital  Force,  and  stay  the  destroying  hand  of  De- 
cay ?" 

At  this  point  a  wonderful  passion  seized  upon  many  of 
the  people  present;  for  some  sprang  to  their  feet  and 
lifted  hands  and  shouted,  some  wept  aloud,  some  clasped 
each  other  by  the  hand ;  there  were  lovers  among  the 
crowd  who  fell  openly  into  each  other's  arras ;  there  were 
men  of  learning  who  hugged  imaginary  books  and  looked 
up  with  wild  eyes ;  there  were  girls  who  smiled,  thinking 
that  their  beauty  might  last  longer  than  a  day ;  there 
were  women  down  whose  cheeks  rolled  the  tears  of  sorrow 


PROLOGUE.  13 

for  their  vanished  beauty ;  there  were  old  men  who  lieard 
and  trembled. 

One  of  them  spoke  —  ont  of  all  this  crowd  only  one 
found  words.  It  was  an  old  statesman ;  an  old  man  elo- 
quent.    He  rose  with  shaking  limbs. 

"Sir,"  he  cried,  his  voice  still  sonorous,  "give  me  back 
my  manhood !" 

The  Professor  continued,  regardless  : 

"  Suppose,"  he  said,  "  that  Science  had  found  out  the 
way,  not  to  restore  what  is  lost,  but  to  arrest  further  loss ; 
not  to  give  back  what  is  gone — you  might  as  well  try  to 
restore  a  leg  that  has  been  cut  off — but  to  prevent  further 
loss.  Consider  this  for  a  moment,  I  pray  you.  Those 
who  search  into  Nature's  secrets  might,  if  this  were  done 
for  them,  carry  on  their  investigations  far  beyond  any 
point  which  had  yet  been  reached ;  those  who  cultivate 
Art  might  attain  to  a  greater  skill  of  hand  and  truth  of 
sight  than  has  ever  yet  been  seen  ;  those  who  study  human 
nature  might  multiply  their  observations;  those  who  love 
might  have  a  longer  time  for  their  passion ;  men  who  are 
strong  might  remain  strong;  women  who  are  beautiful 
might  remain  beautiful — " 

"  Sir,"  cried  again  the  old  man  eloquent,  "  give  me  back 
my  manhood !" 

The  Lecturer  made  no  reply,  but  went  on  : 

"  The  rich  might  have  a  time — a  sensible  length  of  time 
— in  which  to  enjoy  their  wealth ;  the  young  might  re- 
main young;  the  old  might  grow  no  older;  the  feeble 
might  not  become  more  feeble — all  for  a  prolonged  time. 
As  for  those  whose  lives  could  never  become  anything 
but  a  burden  to  themselves  and  to  the  rest  of  the  world — 
the  crippled,  the  criminal,  the  poor,  the  imbecile,  the  in- 
competent, the  stupid,  and  the  frivolous — they  would  live 
out  their  allotted  lives  and  die.     It  would  be  for  the  salt 


14  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

of  the  earth,  for  the  flower  of  mankind,  for  the  men  strong 
of  intellect  and  endowed  above  the  common  herd,  that 
Science  would  reserve  this  precious  gift." 

"  Give  me  back  my  manhood !"  cried  again  the  old  man 
eloquent. 

But  he  was  not  alone,  for  they  all  sprang  to  their  feet 
together  and  cried  aloud,  shrieking,  weeping,  stretching 
forth  hands,  "  Give  —  give  —  give!"  But  the  Director, 
who  knew  that  what  was  asked  for  would  be  given,  sat 
silent  and  self-possessed. 

The  Speaker  motioned  them  all  to  sit  down  again. 

"  I  would  not,"  he  said,  "  limit  this  great  gift  to  those 
alone  whose  intellect  leads  the  world.  I  would  extend  it 
to  all  who  help  to  make  life  beautiful  and  happy;  to  love- 
ly women  " — here  the  men  heaved  a  sigh  so  deep,  so  simul- 
taneous, that  it  fell  upon  the  ear  like  the  voice  of  thanks- 
giving from  a  Cathedral  choir — "  to  those  who  love  only 
the  empty  show  and  pleasures  and  vainglories  of  life" — 
here  many  smiled,  especially  of  the  younger  sort — "  even 
to  some  of  those  who  desire  nothing  of  life  but  love  and 
song  and  dalliance  and  laughter."  Again  the  younger  sort 
smiled,  and  tried  to  look  as  if  they  had  no  connection  at 
all  with  that  band.  "  I  would  extend  this  gift,  I  repeat, 
to  all  who  can  themselves  be  happy  in  the  sunshine  and 
the  light,  and  to  all  who  can  make  the  happiness  of  others. 
Then,  again,  consider.  When  you  have  enjoyed  those 
things  for  a  while ;  when  your  life  has  been  prolonged,  so 
that  you  have  enjoyed  all  that  you  desire  in  full  measure 
and  running  over;  when  not  two  or  three  years  have 
passed,  but  perhaps  two  or  three  centuries,  you  would 
then,  of  your  own  accord,  put  aside  the  aid  of  Science  and 
suffer  your  body  to  fall  into  the  decay  which  awaits  all 
living  matter.  Contented  and  resigned,  you  would  sink 
into  the  tomb,  not  satiated  with  the  joys  of  life,  but  satis- 


PROLOGUE.  15 

fied  to  have  had  jour  share.  There  would  be  no  terror  in 
death,  since  it  would  take  none  but  those  who  could  saj, 
'I  have  had  enough.'  That  day  would  surely  come  to 
every  one.  There  is  nothing — not  research  and  discovery, 
not  the  beauty  of  Xature,  not  love  and  pleasure,  not  art, 
not  flowers  and  sunshine  and  perpetual  youth — of  which 
we  should  not  in  time  grow  weary.  Science  cannot  alter 
the  Laws  of  Nature.  Of  all  things  there  must  be  an  end. 
But  she  can  prolong ;  she  can  avert ;  she  can —  Yes, 
my  friends.  This  is  my  Discovery ;  this  is  my  Gift  to 
Humanity;  this  is  the  fruit,  the  outcome  of  my  life;  for 
me  this  great  thing  has  been  reserved.  Science  can  arrest 
decay.  She  can  make  you  live — live  on — live  for  cen- 
turies— nay,  I  know  not — why  not  ? — she  can,  if  you  fool- 
ishly desire  it,  make  you  live  forever." 

Now,  when  these  words  were  spoken  there  fell  a  deep 
silence  upon  the  crowd.  No  one  spoke ;  no  one  looked 
up  ;  they  were  awed  ;  they  could  not  realize  what  it  meant 
that  would  be  given  them ;  they  were  suddenly  relieved 
of  a  great  terror,  the  constant  dread  that  lies  in  man's 
heart,  ever  present,  though  we  conceal  it — the  dread  of 
Death  ;  but  they  could  not,  in  a  moment,  understand  that 
it  was  given. 

But  the  Director  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  grasped  his 
brother  physicist  by  the  hand. 

"  Of  all  the  sons  of  Science,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "  thou 
shalt  be  proclaimed  the  first  and  best." 

The  assembly  heard  these  words,  but  made  no  sign. 
There  was  no  applause — not  a  murmur,  not  a  voice.  They 
were  stricken  dumb  with  wonder  and  with  awe.  They 
were  going  to  live — to  live  on — to  live  for  centuries,  nay, 
why  not  'i — to  live  forever  ! 

"  You  all  know,"  the  Professor  continued,  "  how  at  a 
dinner  a  single  gUss  of  champagne  revives  the  spirits. 


16  THE   INNER  HOUSE, 

looses  the  tongue,  and  brings  activity  to  the  brain.  The 
guests  were  weary ;  they  were  in  decay ;  the  Champagne 
arrests  that  decay.  My  discovery  is  of  another  kind  of 
Champagne,  which  acts  with  a  more  lasting  effect.  It 
strengthens  the  nerves,  hardens  the  muscles,  quickens  the 
blood,  and  brings  activity  to  the  digestion.  With  new 
strength  of  the  body  returns  new  strength  to  the  mind ; 
mind  and  body  are  one."  He  paused  a  moment.  Then 
he  gave  the  leather  case  into  the  hands  of  the  Director. 
"  This  is  my  gift,  I  say.  I  give  to  my  brother  full  partic- 
ulars and  the  history  of  the  invention.  I  seek  no  profit 
for  myself.  It  is  your  own.  This  day  a  new  epoch  be- 
gins for  humanity.  We  shall  not  die,  but  live.  Acci- 
dent, fire,  lightning,  may  kill  us.  Against  these  things 
we  cannot  guard.  But  old  age  shall  no  more  fall  upon  us ; 
decay  shall  no  more  rob  us  of  our  life  and  strength ;  and 
death  shall  be  voluntary.  This  is  a  great  change.  I  know 
not  if  I  have  done  aright.  That  is  for  you  to  determine. 
See  that  you  use  this  gift  aright." 

Then,  before  the  people  had  understood  the  last 
words,  the  speaker  stepped  out  of  the  Theatre  and  was 
gone. 

But  the  Director  of  the  Royal  Institution  stood  in  his 
place,  and  in  his  hand  was  the  leather  case  containing 
the  Gift  of  Life. 

The  Countess  of  Thordisa,  who  had  been  asleep  through- 
out the  lecture,  woke  up  when  it  was  finished. 

"  How  deeply  interesting !"  she  sighed,  "  This  it  is,  to 
catch  Science  on  the  wing."  Then  she  looked  round. 
"  Mildred,  dear,"  she  said,  "  has  Dr.  Linister  gone  to  find 
the  carriage?  Dear  me!  what  a  commotion!  And  at 
the  Royal  Institution,  of  all  places  in  the  world  1" 

"I  think,  Mamma,"  said  Lady  Mildred,  coldly,  "that 


THE   SUPPER-BELL.  17 

wc  had  better  get  some  one  else  to  find  tlic  carriage.  Dr. 
Linister  is  over  there.     He  is  better  engaged." 

He  was;  he  was  among  his  brother  physicists;  they 
were  eagerly  asking  questions  and  crowding  round  the 
Director.  And  the  Theatre  seemed  filled  with  mad  peo- 
ple, who  surged  and  crowded  and  pushed. 

"  Come,  Mamma,"  said  Lady  Mildred,  pale,  but  with  a 
red  spot  on  either  cheek,  "  we  will  leave  them  to  fight  it 
out." 

Science  had  beaten  love.  She  did  not  meet  Harry 
Linister  again  that  night.  And  when  they  met  again, 
long  years  afterwards,  he  passed  her  by  with  eyes  that 
showed  he  had  clean  forgotten  her  existence,  unaltered 
though  she  was  in  face  and  form. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    SUPPER- BELL. 

When  the  big  bell  in  the  Tower  of  the  House  of  Life 
struck  the  hour  of  seven,  the  other  bells  began  to  chime 
as  they  had  done  every  day  at  this  hour  for  I  know  not 
how  many  years.  Very  likely  in  the  Library,  where  we 
still  keep  a  great  collection  of  perfectly  useless  books, 
there  is  preserved  some  History  which  may  speak  of  these 
Bells,  and  of  the  builders  of  the  House.  When  these 
chimes  began,  the  swifts  and  jackdaws  which  live  in  the 
Tower  began  to  fly  about  with  a  great  show  of  iiurry,  as 
if  there  was  barely  time  for  supper,  though,  as  it  was  yet 
only  the  month  of  July,  the  sun  would  not  be  setting  for 
an  hour  or  more. 

We  have  long  since  ceased  to  preach  to  the  people, 
otherwise  we  might  make  them  learn  a  great  deal  from 
2 


18  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

the  auinial  world.  They  live,  for  instance,  from  day  to 
day ;  not  only  are  their  lives  miserably  short,  but  they  are 
always  hungry,  always  fighting,  always  quarrelling,  always 
fierce  in  their  loves  and  their  jealousies.  Watching  the 
swifts,  for  instance,  which  we  may  do  nearly  all  day  long, 
we  ought  to  congratulate  ourselves  on  our  o\yn  leisurely 
order,  the  adequate  provision  for  food  made  by  the  Wis- 
dom of  the  College,  the  assurance  of  preservation  also 
established  by  that  Wisdom,  and  our  freedom  from  haste 
and  anxiety,  as  from  the  emotions  of  love,  hatred,  jeal- 
ousy, and  rivalry.  But  the  time  has  gone  by  for  that 
kind  of  exhortation. 

Thus,  our  people,  who  at  this  hour  crowded  the  great 
Square,  showed  in  their  faces,  their  attitudes,  and  their 
movements,  the  calm  that  reigned  in  their  souls.  Some 
were  lying  on  the  grass ;  some  were  sitting  on  the  benches ; 
some  were  strolling.  They  were  for  the  most  part  alone ; 
if  not  alone — because  habit  often  survives  when  the  orig- 
inal cause  of  the  habit  is  gone — then  in  pairs. 

In  the  old  unhappy  days  there  would  have  been  restless 
activity — a  hurrying  to  and  fro ;  there  would  have  been 
laughter  and  talking — everybody  would  have  been  talk- 
ing ;  there  would  have  been  young  men  eagerly  courting 
the  favors  of  young  women,  looking  on  them  with  long- 
ing eyes,  ready  to  fight  for  them,  each  for  the  girl  he 
loved ;  thinking  each  of  the  girl  he  loved  as  of  a  goddess 
or  an  angel — all  perfection.  Tlie  girls  themselves  ardent- 
ly desired  this  foolish  worship.  Again,  formerly,  there 
would  have  been  old  men  and  old  women  looking  with 
melancholy  eyes  on  the  scenes  they  were  about  to  quit, 
and  lamenting  the  days  of  their  strength  and  their  youth. 
And  formerly  there  would  have  been  among  the  crowd 
beggars  and  paupers ;  there  would  have  been  some  rftas- 
ters  and  some  servants ;  some  noble  and  some  bourgeois ; 


THE   SCPPER-BELL.  19 

there  would  have  been  every  conceivable  difference  in 
age,  rank,  strength,  intellect,  and  distinction. 

Again,  formerly  there  would  have  been  the  most  inso- 
lent differences  in  costume.  Some  of  the  men  used  to 
wear  broadcloth,  sleek  and  smooth,  with  glossy  hats  and 
gloves,  and  flowers  at  their  button  -  hole  ;  while  beside 
them  crawled  the  wretched  half-clad  objects  pretending 
to  sell  matches,  but  in  reality  begging  for  their  bread. 
And  some  of  the  women  used  to  flaunt  in  dainty  and 
expensive  stuffs,  setting  off  their  supposed  charms  (which 
were  mostly  made  by  the  dress-maker's  art)  with  the  curves 
and  colors  of  their  drapery.  And  beside  them  would  be 
crawling  the  wretched  creatures  to  whom  in  the  summer, 
when  the  days  were  hot  and  fine,  the  Park  was  their  only 
home,  and  rusty  black  their  only  wear. 

Xow,  no  activity  at  all ;  no  hurrying,  no  laughing, 
not  even  any  talking.  That  might  have  struck  a  visitor 
as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  results  of  our  system.  No 
foolish  talking.  As  for  their  dress,  it  was  all  alike.  The 
men  wore  blue  flannel  jackets  and  trousers,  with  a  flannel 
shirt  and  a  flat  bine  cap;  for  the  working  hours  they  had 
a  rougher  dress.  The  women  wore  a  costume  in  gra}', 
made  of  a  stuff  called  beige.  It  is  a  useful  stuff,  because 
it  wears  well ;  it  is  soft  and  yet  warm,  and  cannot  be  ob- 
jected to  by  any  of  them  on  the  score  of  ugliness.  What 
mutinies,  what  secret  conspiracies,  what  mad  revolts  had 
to  be  faced  before  the  women  could  be  made  to  under- 
stand that  Socialism — the  only  form  of  society  which  can 
now  be  accepted — must  be  logical  and  complete !  What 
is  one  woman  more  than  another  that  she  should  separate 
herself  from  her  sisters  by  her  dress  ?  Therefore,  since 
their  subjugation  they  all  wear  a  gray  beige  frock,  with 
a  jacket  of  the  same,  and  a  flat  gray  cap,  like  the  men's, 
under  which  they  are  made  to  gather  up  their  hair. 


20  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

This  scene,  indeed — the  gathering  of  the  People  before 
the  supper-bell — is  one  of  which  I  never  tire.  I  look  at 
all  the  eager,  hurrying  swifts  in  the  air,  I  remember  the 
Past ;  and  I  think  of  the  Present  when  I  gaze  upon  the 
great  multitude,  in  which  no  one  regardeth  his  neighbor,' 
none  speaks  to  none.  There  are  no  individual  aims,  but 
all  is  pure,  unadulterated  Socialism,  with — not  far  distant 
— the  Ultimate  Triumph  of  Science ! 

I  desire  to  relate  the  exact  circumstances  connected 
with  certain  recent  events.  It  is  generally  known  that 
they  caused  one  deplorable  Death — one  of  our  own  Society, 
although  not  a  Physician  of  the  House.  I  shall  have  to 
explain,  before  I  begin  the  narrative,  certain  points  in  our 
internal  management  which  may  differ  from  the  customs 
adopted  elsewhere.  "We  of  the  Later  Era  visit  each  other 
so  seldom  that  differences  may  easily  grow  up,  Indeed, 
considering  the  terrible  dangers  of  travel — how,  if  one 
walks,  there  are  the  perils  of  unfiltered  water,  damp  beds, 
sprained  ankles,  byrsitis  of  the  knee,  chills  from  frosts  and 
showers ;  or  if  one  gets  into  a  wheeled  vehicle,  the  wheels 
may  fall  off,  or  the  carriage  may  be  overturned  in  a  ditch. 
.  .  .  But  why  pursue  the  subject  ?  I  repeat,  therefore,  that 
I  must  speak  of  the  community  and  its  order,  but  that  as 
briefly  as  may  be. 

The  Rebels  have  been  driven  forth  from  the  Pale  of 
Humanity  to  wander  where  they  please.  In  a  few  years 
they  will  be  released — if  that  has  not  already  happened — 
by  Death  from  the  diseases  and  sufferings  which  will  fall 
upon  them.  Then  we  shall  remember  them  no  more. 
The  centuries  will  roll  by,  and  they  shall  be  forgotten ; 
the  very  mounds  of  earth  which  once  marked  the  place 
of  their  burial  will  be  level  with  the  ground  around  them, 
But  the  House  and  the  Glory  of  the  House  will  continue. 

Thus  perish  all  the  enemies  of  Science ! 


THE   SUPPER-BELL.  21 

The  City  of  Canterbury,  as  it  was  rebuilt  when  So- 
cialism was  finally  established,  has  in  its  centre  a  great 
Square,  Park,  or  Garden,  the  central  breathing-place  and 
relaxation  ground  of  the  City.  Each  side  is  exactly  half 
a  mile  in  length.  The  Garden,  thus  occupying  an  area  of 
a  fourth  of  a  square  mile,  is  planted  with  every  kind  of 
ornamental  tree,  and  laid  out  in  flower-beds,  winding 
walks,  serpentine  rivers,  lakes,  cascades,  bridges,  grottos, 
summer-houses,  lawns,  and  everything  that  can  help  to 
make  the  place  attractive.  During  the  summer  it  is 
thronged  every  evening  with  the  people.  On  its  west 
side  has  been  erected  an  enormous  Palace  of  glass,  low  in 
height,  but  stretching  far  away  to  the  west,  covering  an 
immense  area.  Here  the  heat  is  artificially  maintained  at 
temperatures  varying  with  the  season  and  the  plants  that 
are  in  cultivation.  In  winter,  frost,  bad  weather,  and  in 
rain,  it  forms  a  place  of  recreation  and  rest.  Here  grow 
all  kinds  of  fruit-trees,  with  all  kinds  of  vegetables,  flow- 
ers, and  plants.  All  the  year  round  it  furnishes,  in  quan- 
tities sufiicient  for  all  our  wants,  an  endless  supply  of 
fruit ;  so  that  we  have  a  supply  of  some  during  the  whole 
year,  as  grapes,  bananas,  and  oranges ;  others  for  at  least 
half  the  year,  as  peaches,  strawberries,  and  so  forth  ;  while 
of  the  commoner  vegetables,  as  peas,  beans,  and  the  like, 
there  is  now  no  season,  but  they  are  grown  continuouslj'. 
In  the  old  times  we  were  dependent  upon  the  changes 
and  chances  of  a  capricious  and  variable  climate.  Xow, 
not  only  has  the  erection  of  these  vast  houses  made  us  in- 
dependent of  summer  and  winter,  but  the  placing  of 
much  grass  and  corn  land  under  glass  has  also  assured  our 
crops  and  secured  us  from  the  danger  of  famine.  This 
is  by  no  means  one  of  the  least  advantages  of  modern  civ- 
ilization. 

On   the  South  side  of  the  Square  stands  our  Public 


22  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

Hall.  The  buildiug  lias  not,  like  the  House  of  Life,  any 
architectural  beauty — why  should  we  aim  at  beauty,  when 
efficiency  is  our  sole  object?  The  House  of  Life  was 
designed  and  erected  when  men  thought  perpetually  of 
beauty,  working  from  their  admiration  of  beauty  in  wom- 
an and  in  nature  to  beauty  in  things  which  they  made 
with  their  own  hands,  setting  beauty  above  usefulness; 
even  thinking  it  necessary,  when  usefulness  had  been  at- 
tained, to  add  adornment,  as  when  they  added  a  Tower  to 
the  House  of  Life,  yet  did  nothing  with  their  Tower  and 
did  not  want  it. 

The  Public  Hall  is  built  of  red  brick ;  it  resembles  a 
row  of  houses  each  with  a  gable  to  the  street.  There  is 
for  each  a  broad  plain  door,  with  a  simple  porch,  below ; 
and  above,  a  broad  plain  window  twenty  feet  wide  divided 
into  four  compartments  or  divisions,  the  whole  set  in  a 
framework  of  wood.  The  appearance  of  the  Hall  is, 
therefore,  remarkably  plain.  There  are  thirty -one  of 
these  gables,  each  forty  feet  wide;  so  that  the  whole 
length  of  the  Hall  is  twelve  hundred  and  forty  feet,  or 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

Within,  the  roof  of  each  of  these  gables  covers  a  Hall 
separated  from  its  neighbors  by  plain  columns.  They 
are  all  alike,  except  that  the  middle  Hall,  set  apart  for  the 
College,  has  a  gallery  originally  intended  for  an  orchestra, 
now  never  used.  In  the  central  Hall  one  table  alone  is 
placed ;  in  all  the  others  there  are  four,  every  Hall  ac- 
commodating eight  hundred  people  and  every  table  two 
hundred.  The  length  of  each  Hall  is  the  same — namely, 
two  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  The  Hall  is  lit  by  one  large 
window  at  each  end.  There  are  no  carvings,  sculptures, 
or  other  ornaments  in  the  building.  At  the  back  is  an 
extensive  range  of  buildings,  all  of  brick,  built  in  small 
compartments,  and  fire-proof ;  they  contain  the  kitchens, 


THE   SUPPER-BELL.  23 

granaries,  abattoirs,  larders,  cellars,  dairies,  still-rooms,  pan- 
tries, curing-houses,  ovens,  breweries,  and  all  the  other 
offices  and  chambers  required  for  the  daily  provisioning 
of  a  city  with  twenty-four  thousand  inhabitants. 

On  the  East  side  of  the  Square  there  are  two  great 
groups  of  buildings.      That  nearest  to  the  Public  Hall 
contains,  in  a  series  of  buildings  which  communicate  with 
one  another,  the  Library,  the  Museum,  the  Armory,  the 
Model-room,  and  the  Picture  Gallery.    The  last  is  a  build- 
ing as  old  as  the  House.     They  were,  when  these  events 
began,  open  to  the  whole  Community,  though  they  were 
never  visited  by  any  even  out  of  idle  curiosity.     The  in- 
quisitive spirit  is  dead.     For  myself,  I  am  not  anxious  to 
see  the  people  acquire,  or  revive,  the  habit  of  reading  and 
inquiring.     It  might  be  argued  that  the  study  of  history 
might  make  them  contrast  the  present  with  the  past,  and 
shudder  at  the  lot  of  their  forefathers.     But  I  am  going 
to  show  that  this  study  may  produce  quite  the  opposite 
effect.     Or,  there  is  the  study  of  science.     How  should 
this  help  the  People?     They  have  the  College  always 
studying  and  investigating  for  their  benefit  the  secrets  of 
medical   science,  which   alone   concerns  their  happiness, 
•they  might  learn  how  to  make  machines  ;  but  machinery 
requires   steam,  explosives,  electricity,  and   other  uncon- 
trolled and  dangerous  forces.     Many  thousands  of  lives 
were  formerly  lost  in  the  making  and  management  of 
these  machines,  and  we  do  very  well  without  them.    They 
might,  it  is  true,  read  the  books  which  tell  of  the  people 
in  former  times.     But  why  read  works  which  are  filled 
with  the  Presence  of  Death,  the  Shortness  of  Life,  and 
^he  intensity  of  passions  which  we  have  almost  forgotten  ? 
You  shall  see  what  comes  of  these  studies  which  seem  so 
innocent. 

I  say,  therefore,  that  I  never  had  any  wish  to  see  the 


24  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

people  flocking  into  the  Library.  For  the  same  reason — 
that  a  study  and  contemphition  of  things  past  might  un- 
settle or  disturb  the  tranquillity  of  their  minds — I  have 
never  wished  to  see  them  in  the  Museum,  the  Armory,  or 
any  other  part  of  our  Collections.  And  since  the  events 
of  which  I  have  to  tell,  we  have  enclosed  these  buildings 
and  added  them  to  the  College,  so  that  the  people  can 
no  longer  enter  them  even  if  they  wished. 

The  Curator  of  the  Museum  was  an  aged  man,  one  of 
the  few  old  men  left — in  the  old  days  he  had  held  a  title 
of  some  kind.  He  was  placed  there  because  he  was  old 
and  much  broken,  and  could  do  no  work.  Therefore  he 
was  told  to  keep  the  glass-cases  free  from  dust  and  to 
sweep  the  floors  every  morning.  At  the  time  of  the  Great 
Discovery  he  had  been  an  Earl  or  Viscount — I  know  not 
what — and  by  some  accident  he  escaped  the  Great  Slaugh- 
ter, when  it  was  resolved  to  kill  all  the  old  men  and  wom- 
en in  order  to  reduce  the  population  to  the  number  which 
the  land  would  support.  I  believe  that  he  hid  himself, 
and  was  secretly  fed  by  some  man  who  had  formerly  been 
his  groom,  and  still  preserved  some  remains  of  what  he 
called  attachment  and  duty,  until  such  time  as  the  execu- 
tions were  over.  Then  he  ventured  forth  again,  and  so 
great  was  the  horror  of  the  recent  massacre,  with  the  rec- 
ollection of  the  prayers  and  shrieks  of  the  victims,  that  he 
was  allowed  to  continue  alive.  The  old  man  was  troubled 
with  an  asthma  which  hardl}'  permitted  him  an  hour  of 
repose  and  was  incurable.  This  would  have  made  his  life 
intolerable,  except  that  to  live — only  to  live,  in  any  pain 
and  misery — is  always  better  than  to  die. 

For  the  last  few  years  the  old  man  had  a  companion  in 
the  Museum.  This  was  a  girl — the  only  girl  in  our  Com- 
munity— who  called  him — I  know  not  why  (perhaps  be- 
cause the  relationship   really  existed) — Grandfather,  and 


THE  SUPPER-BELL,  25 

lived  with  him.  She  it  was  who  dusted  the  cases  and 
swept  the  floors.  She  found  some  means  of  relieving  the 
old  man's  asthma,  and  all  da}'  long— would  that  I  had  dis- 
covered the  fact,  or  suspected  whither  it  would  lead  the 
wretched  girl ! — she  read  the  books  of  the  Library  and 
studied  the  contents  of  the  cases  and  talked  to  the  old 
man,  making  him  tell  her  everything  that  belonged  to  tlie 
past.  All  she  cared  for  was  the  Past;  all  that  she  studied 
was  to  understand  more  and  more — how  men  lived  then, 
and  what  they  thought,  and  what  they  talked. 

She  was  about  eighteen  years  of  age ;  but,  indeed,  we 
thought  her  still  a  child.  I  know  not  how  many  years 
had  elapsed  since  any  in  the  City  were  children,  because 
it  is  a  vain  thing  to  keep  account  of  the  years ;  if  an^-- 
thing  happens  to  distinguish  them,  it  must  be  sometliing 
disastrous,  because  we  have  now  arrived  almost  at  the  last 
stage  possible  to  man.  It  only  remains  for  us  to  discover, 
not  only  how  to  prevent  disease,  but  how^  to  annihilate  it. 
Since,  then,  there  is  only  one  step  left  to  take  in  advance, 
every  other  event  which  can  happen  must  be  in  the  nat- 
ure of  a  calamity,  and  therefore  may  be  forgotten. 

I  have  said  that  Christine  called  the  old  man  her  grand- 
father. "We  have  long,  long  since  agreed  to  forget  old  ties 
of  blood.  IIow  can  father  and  son,  mother  and  daughter, 
brother  and  "sister  continue  for  hundreds  of  years,  and 
when  all  remain  fixed  at  the  same  age,  to  keep  up  the  old 
relationship?  The  maternal  love  dies  out  with  us — it  is 
now  but  seldom  called  into  existence — when  the  child  can 
run  about.  Why  not?  The  animals,  from  whom  we 
learn  so  much,  desert  their  offspring  when  they  can  feed 
themselves;  our  mothers  cease  to  care  for  their  children 
when  they  are  old  enough  to  be  the  charge  of  the  Com- 
munity. Therefore  Christine's  mother  cheerfully  suf- 
fered the  child  to  leave  her  as  soon  as  she  was  old  enousfh 


26  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

to  sit  in  the  Public  Hall.  Her  grandfather — if  indeed  he 
was  her  grandfather  —  obtained  permission  to  have  the 
child  with  him.  So  she  remained  in  the  quiet  Museum. 
We  never  imagined  or  suspected,  however,  that  the  old 
man,  who  was  eighty  at  the  time  of  the  Great  Discovery, 
remembered  everything  that  took  place  when  he  was 
young,  and  talked  with  the  girl  all  day  long  about  the 
Past. 

I  do  not  know  who  was  Christine's  father.  It  matters 
not  now ;  and,  indeed,  he  never  claimed  his  daughter. 
One  smiles  to  think  of  the  importance  formerly  attached 
to  fathers.  We  no  longer  work  for  their  support.  We 
are  no  longer  dependent  upon  their  assistance ;  the  father 
does  nothing  for  the  son,  nor  the  son  for  the  father.  Five 
hundred  years  ago,  say — or  a  thousand  years  ago — the  fa- 
ther carried  a  baby  in  his  arms.  What  then  ?  My  own 
father — I  believe  he  is  my  own  father,  but  on  this  point  I 
may  be  mistaken — I  saw  yesterday  taking  his  turn  in  the 
hay-field.  He  seemed  distressed  with  the  heat  and  fatigue 
of  it.  Why  not?  It  makes  no  difference  to  me.  He  is, 
though  not  so  young,  still  as  strong  and  as  able-bodied  as 
myself.  Christine  was  called  into  existence  by  the  sanc- 
tion of  the  College  when  one  of  the  Community  was 
struck  dead  by  lightning.  It  was  my  brother,  I  believe. 
The  terrible  event  filled  us  all  with  consternation.  How- 
ever, the  population  having  thus  been  diminished  by  one, 
it  was  resolved  that  the  loss  should  be  repaired.  There 
was  precedent.  A  great  many  years  previously,  owing  to 
a  man  being  killed  by  the  fall  of  a  hay-rick — all  hay-ricks 
are  now  made  low — another  birth  had  been  allowed.  That 
was  a  boy. 

Let  us  now  return  to  our  Square.  On  the  same  side 
are  the  buildings  of  the  College.  Here  are  the  Anatomi- 
cal  collections,  the   storehouse   of   Materia  Medica,  and 


THE   SUPPER-BELL.  27 

the  residences  of  the  Arch  Pliysician,  the  Suffragan,  the 
Fellows  of  the  College  or  Associate  Physicians,  and  the 
Assistants  or  Experimenters.  The  buildings  are  plain 
and  fire-proof.  The  College  has  its  own  private  gardens, 
which  are  large  and  filled  with  trees.  Here  the  Physi- 
cians walk  and  meditate,  undisturbed  by  the  -outer  world. 
Here  is  also  their  Library. 

On  the  North  side  of  the  Square  stands  the  great  and 
venerable  House  of  Life,  the  Glory  of  the  City,  the  Pride 
of  the  whole  Country. 

It  is  very  ancient.  Formerly  there  were  many  such 
splendid  monuments  standing  in  the  country ;  now  this 
alone  remains.  It  was  built  in  the  dim,  distant  ages,  when 
men  believed  things  now  forgotten.  It  was  designed  for 
the  celebration  of  certain  ceremonies  or  functions ;  their 
nature  and  meaning  may,  I  dare  say,  be  ascertained  by 
any  who  cares  to  waste  time  in  an  inquiry  so  useless. 
The  edifice  itself  could  not  possibly  be  built  in  these 
times ;  first  because  we  have  no  artificers  capable  of  rear- 
ing such  a  pile,  and  next  because  we  have  not  among  us 
any  one  capable  of  conceiving  it,  or  drawing  the  design 
of  it ;  nay,  we  have  none  who  could  execute  the  carved 
stone- work. 

I  do  not  say  this  with  humility,  but  with  satisfaction ; 
for,  if  we  contemplate  the  building,  we  must  acknowl- 
edge that,  though  it  is,  as  I  have  said,  the  Glory  of  the 
City,  and  though  it  is  vast  in  proportions,  imposing  by  its 
grandeur,  and  splendid  in  its  work,  yet  most  of  it  is  per- 
fectly useless.  What  need  of  the  tall  columns  to  support 
a  roof  which  might  very  well  have  been  one-fourth  the 
present  height?  Why  build  the  Tower  at  all?  What  is 
the  good  of  the  carved  work  i  We  of  the  New  Era  build 
in  brick,  which  is  fire-proof ;  we  put  up  structures  which 
are  no  larger  than  are  wanted ;  we  waste  no  labor,  be- 


28  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

cause  we  grudge  the  time  which  must  be  spent  in  neces- 
sary work,  over  things  unnecessary.  Besides,  we  are  no 
longer  tortured  by  the  feverish  anxiety  to  do  something 
— anything — by  which  we  may  be  remembered  when  the 
short  span  of  life  is  past.  Death  to  us  is  a  thing  which 
may  happen  by  accident,  but  not  from  old  age  or  by  dis- 
ease. "Why  should  men  toil  and  trouble  in  order  to  be 
remembered  ?  All  things  are  equal :  why  should  one 
man  try  to  do  something  better  than  another — or  what 
another  cannot  do — or  what  is  useless  when  it  is  done? 
Sculptures,  pictures,  Art  of  any  kind,  will  not  add  a  single 
ear  of  corn  to  the  general  stock,  or  a  single  glass  of  wine, 
or  a  yard  of  flannel.  Therefore,  we  need  not  regret  the 
decay  of  Art. 

As  everybody  knows,  however,  the  House  is  the  chief 
Laboratory  of  the  whole  country.  It  is  here  that  the 
Great  Secret  is  preserved ;  it  is  known  to  the  Arch  Phy- 
sician and  to  his  Suffragan  alone.  No  other  man  in  the 
country  knows  by  what  process  is  compounded  that  po- 
tent liquid  which  arrests  decay  and  prolongs  life,  appar- 
ently without  any  bound  or  limit.  I  say  without  any 
bound  or  limit.  There  certainly  are  croakers,  who  main- 
tain that  at  some  future  time — it  may  be  this  very  year, 
it  may  be  a  thousand  years  hence  —  the  compound  will 
lose  its  power,  and  so  we — all  of  us,  even  the  College — 
must  then  inevitably  begin  to  decay,  and  after  a  few  short 
years  perish  and  sink  into  the  silent  grave.  The  very 
thought  causes  a  horror  too  dreadful  for  words;  the  limbs 
tremble,  the  teeth  chatter.  But  others  declare  that  there 
is  no  fear  whatever  of  this  result,  and  that  the  only  dread 
is  lest  the  whole  College  should  suddenly  be  struck  by 
lightning,  and  so  the  Secret  be  lost.  For  though  none 
other  than  the  Arch  Physician  and  his  Suffragan  know 
the  Secret,  the  whole  Society — the  Fellows  or  Assistant 


THE   SUPPER-BELL.  29 

Physicilins — know  in  what  strong  place  the  Secret  is  kept 
in  writing,  just  as  it  was  communicated  by  the  Discoverer. 
The  Fellows  of  the  College  all  assist  in  the  production  of 
this  precious  liquid,  which  is  made  only  in  the  House  of 
Life.  But  none  of  them  know  whether  they  are  work- 
ing for  the  great  Arcanum  itself,  or  on  some  of  the  many 
experiments  conducted  for  the  Arch  Physician.  Even  if 
one  guessed,  he  would  not  dare  to  communicate  his  sus- 
picions even  to  a  Brother-Fellow,  being  forbidden,  under 
the  most  awful  of  all  penalties,  that  of  Death  itself,  to 
divulge  the  experiments  and  processes  that  he  is  ordered 
to  carry  out. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  if  we  are  proud  of  the  PIouse, 
we  are  equally  proud  of  the  City.  There  was  formerly 
an  old  Canterbury,  of  which  pictures  exist  in  the  Library. 
The  streets  of  that  town  were  narrow  and  winding;  the 
houses  were  irregular  in  height,  size,  and  style.  There 
were  close  courts,  not  six  feet  broad,  in  which  no  air  could 
circulate,  and  where  fevers  and  other  disorders  were  bred. 
Some  houses,  again,  stood  in  stately  gardens,  while  others 
had  none  at  all ;  and  the  owners  of  the  gardens  kept  them 
closed.  But  we  can  easily  understand  what  might  have 
happened  when  private  property  was  recognized,  and  laws 
protected  the  so-called  rights  of  owners.  Now  that  there 
is  no  property,  there  are  no  laws.  There  are  also  no 
crimes,  because  there  is  no  incentive  to  jealousy,  rapine, 
or  double-dealing.  Where  there  is  no  crime,  there  is  that 
condition  of  Linocence  which  our  ancestors  so  eagerly 
desired,  and  sought  by  means  which  were  perfectly  certain 
to  fail. 

How  different  is  the  Canterbury  of  the  present !  First, 
like  all  modern  towns,  it  is  limited  in  size;  there  are  in  it 
twenty-four  thousand  inhabitants,  neither  more  nor  less. 
Bound  its  great  central  Square  or  Garden  are  the  public 


30  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

buildings.  The  streets,  which  branch  off  at  right  angles, 
are  all  of  the  same  width,  the  same  length,  and  the  same 
appearance.  They  are  planted  with  trees.  The  houses 
are  built  of  red  brick,  each  house  containing  four  rooms 
on  the  ground-floor — namely,  two  on  either  side  the  door 
— and  four  on  the  first  floor,  with  a  bath-room.  The 
rooms  are  vaulted  with  brick,  so  that  there  is  no  fear  of 
fire.  Every  room  has  its  own  occupant ;  and  as  all  the 
rooms  are  of  the  same  size,  and  are  all  furnished  in  the 
same  way,  with  the  same  regard  to  comfort  and  warmth, 
there  is  really  no  ground  for  complaint  or  jealousies. 
The  occupants  also,  Avho  have  the  same  meals  in  the  same 
Hall  every  day,  cannot  complain  of  inequalities,  any  more 
than  they  can  accuse  each  other  of  gluttonous  living.  In 
the  matter  of  clothes,  again,  it  was  at  first  expected  that 
the  grave  difficulties  with  the  women  as  to  uniformity  of 
fashion  and  of  material  would  continue  to  trouble  us; 
but  with  the  decay  of  those  emotions  which  formerly 
caused  so  much  trouble — since  the  men  have  ceased  to 
court  the  women,  and  the  women  have  ceased  to  de- 
sire men's  admiration — there  has  been  no  opposition. 
All  of  them  now  are  clad  alike ;  gray  is  found  the  most 
convenient  color,  soft  beige  the  most  convenient  mate- 
rial. 

The  same  beautiful  equality  rules  the  hours  and  meth- 
ods of  work.  Five  hours  a  day  are  found  ample,  and 
everybody  takes  his  time  at  every  kind  of  work,  the  men's 
work  being  kept  separate  from  that  given  to  the  women. 
I  confess  that  the  work  is  not  performed  with  as  much 
zeal  as  one  could  wish ;  but  think  of  the  old  times,  when 
one  had  to  work  eight,  ten,  and  even  eighteen  hours  a  day 
in  order  to  earn  a  poor  and  miserable  subsistence !  What 
zeal  could  they  have  put  into  their  work?  How  different 
is  this  glorious  equality  in  all  things  from  the  ancient 


THE   SUPPEK-BELL.  31 

anomalies  and  injustices  of  class  and  rank,  wealth  and 
poverty !  Why,  formerly,  the  chief  pursuit  of  man  was 
the  pursuit  of  money.  And  now  there  is  no  money  at 
all,  and  our  wealth  lies  in  our  barns  and  garners. 

1  must  be  forgiven  if  I  dwell  upon  these  contrasts. 
The  history  which  has  to  be  told— how  an  attempt  was 
actually  made  to  destroy  this  Eden,  and  to  substitute  in 
its  place  the  old  condition  of  things— fills  me  with  such 
indignation  that  I  am  constrained  to  speak. 

Consider,  for  one  other  thing,  the  former  condition  of 
the  world.  It  was  tilled  with  diseases.  People  were  not 
in  any  way  protected.  They  were  allowed  to  live  as  they 
pleased.  Consequently,  they  all  committed  excesses  and 
all  contracted  disease.  Some  drank  too  much,  some  ate 
too  much,  some  took  no  exercise,  some  took  too  little, 
some  lay  in  bed  too  long,  some  went  to  bed  too  late, 
some  suffered  themselves  to  fall  into  violent  rages,  into 
remorse,  into  despair ;  some  loved  inordinately  ;  thou- 
sands worked  too  hard.  All  ran  after  Jack-o'-Lanterns 
continually ;  for,  before  one  there  was  dangled  the  hope 
of  promotion,  before  another  that  of  glory,  before  an- 
other that  of  distinction,  fame,  or  praise ;  before  another 
that  of  wealth,  before  another  the  chance  of  retiring  to 
rest  and  meditate  during  the  brief  remainder  of  his  life 
—miserably  short  even  in  its  whole  length.  Then  dis- 
eases fell  upon  them,  and  they  died. 

AVe  have  now  prevented  all  new  diseases,  though  we 
cannot  wholly  cure  those  which  have  so  long  existed. 
Rheumatism,  gout,  fevers,  arise  no  more,  though  of  gout 
and  other  maladies  there  are  hereditary  cases.  And  since 
there  are  no  longer  any  old  men  among  us,  there  are  none 
of  the  maladies  to  which  old  age  is  liable.  No  more  pain, 
no  more  suffering,  no  more  anxiety,  no  more  Death  (ex- 
cept by  accident)  in  the  world.     Yet  some  of  them  would 


32  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

return  to  the  old  miseries;  and  for  what?  —  for  what? 
You  shall  hear. 

"When  the  Chimes  began,  the  people  turned  their  faces 
with  one  consent  towards  the  Public  Hall,  and  a  smile  of 
satisfaction  spread  over  all  their  faces.  They  were  going 
to  Supper — the  principal  event  of  the  day.  At  the  same 
moment  a  Procession  issued  from  the  iron  gates  of  the 
College.  First  marched  our  Warder,  or  Porter,  John  Lax, 
bearing  a  halberd  ;  next  came  an  Assistant,  carrying  a 
cushion,  on  which  were  the  Keys  of  Gold,  symbolical  of 
the  Gate  of  Life ;  then  came  another,  bearing  our  ban- 
ner, with  the  Labarum  or  symbol  of  Life :  the  Assistants 
followed,  in  ancient  garb  of  cap  and  gown  ;  then  came 
the  twelve  Fellows  or  Physicians  of  the  College,  in  scarlet 
gowns  and  flat  fur-lined  caps ;  after  them,  I  myself — 
Samuel  Grout,  M.D.,  Suffragan — followed.  Last,  there 
marched  the  first  Person  in  the  Realm — none  other  than 
the  Arch  Physician  Himself,  Dr.  Henry  Linister,  in  lawn 
sleeves,  a  black  silk  gown,  and  a  scarlet  hood.  Four  Bea- 
dles closed  the  Procession ;  for,  with  us,  the  only  devi- 
ation from  equality  absolute  is  made  in  the  case  of  the 
College.  We  are  a  Caste  apart ;  we  keep  mankind  alive 
and  free  from  pain.  This  is  our  work ;  this  occupies  all 
our  thoughts.  We  are,  therefore,  held  in  honor,  and  ex- 
cused the  ordinary  work  which  the  others  must  daily  per- 
form. And  behold  the  difference  between  ancient  and 
modern  times!  For,  formerly,  those  who  were  held  in 
honor  and  had  high  office  in  this  always  sacred  House 
were  aged  and  white-haired  men  who  arrived  at  this  dis- 
tinction but  a  year  or  two  before  they  had  to  die.  But 
we  of  the  Holy  College  are  as  stalwart,  as  strong,  and  as 
young  as  any  man  in  the  Hall.  And  so  have  we  been 
for  hundreds  of  years,  and  so  we  mean  to  continue. 


THE  SDPPER-BELL.  33 

In  the  Public  Hall,  we  take  our  meals  apart  in  our  own 
Hall;  yet  the  food  is  the  same  for  all.  Life  is  the  com- 
mon possession ;  it  is  maintained  for  all  by  the  same 
process — here  must  be  no  difference.  Let  all,  therefore, 
eat  and  drink  alike. 

When  I  consider,  I  repeat,  the  universal  happiness,  I  am 
carried  away,  first,  with  a  burning  indignation  that  any 
should  be  so  mad  as  to  mar  this  happiness.  They  have 
failed ;  but  they  cost  us,  as  you  shall  hear,  much  trouble, 
and  caused  the  lamentable  death  of  a  most  zealous  and 
able  officer. 

Among  the  last  to  enter  the  gates  were  the  girl  Chris- 
tine and  her  grandfather,  who  walked  slowly,  coughing 
all  the  way. 

"  Come,  grandad,"  she  said,  as  we  passed  her,  "  take 
my  arm.  You  will  be  better  after  your  dinner.  Lean  on 
me." 

There  was  in  her  face  so  remarkable  a  light  that  I  won- 
der now  that  no  suspicion  or  distrust  possessed  us.  I  call 
it  light,  for  I  can  compare  it  to  nothing  else.  The  easy, 
comfortable  life  our  people  led,  and  the  absence  of  all  ex- 
citing work,  the  decay  of  reading,  and  the  abandonment 
of  art,  had  left  their  faces  placid  to  look  upon,  but  dull. 
They  were  certainly  dull.  They  moved  heavily ;  if  they 
lifted  their  eyes,  they  wanted  the  light  that  flashed  from 
Christine's.  It  was  a  childish  face  still — full  of  softness. 
No  one  would  ever  believe  that  a  creature  so  slight  in 
form,  so  gentle  to  look  upon,  whose  eyes  were  so  soft, 
whose  cheeks  were  like  the  untouched  bloom  of  a  ripe 
peach,  whose  half-parted  lips  were  so  rosy,  was  already 
harboring  thoughts  so  abominable  and  already  conceiving 
an  enterprise  so  wicked. 

We  do  not  suspect,  in  this  our  new  World.  As  we  have 
no  property  to  defend,  no  one  is  a  thief ;  as  everybody 
3 


34  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

has  as  much  of  everything  as  he  wants,  no  one  tries  to  get 
more ;  we  fear  not  Death,  and  therefore  need  no  rehgion  ; 
we  have  no  private  ambitions  to  gratify,  and  no  private 
ends  to  attain  ;  therefore  we  have  long  since  ceased  to 
be  suspicions.  Least  of  all  should  we  have  been  suspi- 
cious of  Christine.  Why,  but  a  year  or  two  ago  she  was 
a  little  newly  born  babe,  whom  the  Holy  College  crowded 
to  see  as  a  new  thing.  And  yet,  was  it  possible  that  one 
so  young  should  be  so  corrupt  ? 

"  Suffragan,"  said  the  Arch  Physician  to  me  at  supper, 
"  I  begin  to  think  that  your  Triumph  of  Science  must  be 
reall}'^  complete." 

"  Why,  Physician  ?" 

"  Because,  day  after  day,  that  child  leads  the  old  man 
by  the  hand,  places  him  in  his  seat,  and  ministers,  after 
the  old,  forgotten  fashion,  to  his  slightest  wants,  and  no 
one  pays  her  the  slightest  heed." 

"Why  should  they?" 

"  A  child — a  beautiful  child  !  A  feeble  old  man  !  One 
who  ministers  to  another.  Suffragan,  the  Past  is  indeed 
far,  far  away;  but  I  knew  not  until  now  that  it  was  so 
utterly  lost.  Childhood  and  Age  and  the  offices  of  Love ! 
And  these  things  are  wholly  unheeded.  Grout,  you  are 
indeed  a  great  man  !" 

He  spoke  in  the  mocking  tone  which  was  usual  with 
him,  so  that  we  never  knew  exactly  whether  he  was  in 
earnest  or  not ;  but  I  think  that  on  this  occasion  he  was 
in  earnest.  No  one  but  a  very  great  man — none  smaller 
than  Samuel  Grout — myself — could  have  accomplished 
this  miracle  upon  the  minds  of  the  People.  They  did  not 
minister  one  to  the  other.  Why  should  they?  Every- 
body could  eat  his  own  ration  without  any  help.  Offices 
of  Love  ?  These  to  pass  unheeded  ?  What  did  the  Arch 
Physician  mean  ? 


GROUT,  SUFFRAGAN.  35 


CHAPTER  II. 

GROUT,    SUFFRAGAN. 

It  always  pleases  me,  from  my  place  at  the  College 
table,  which  is  raised  two  feet  above  the  rest,  to  contem- 
plate the  multitude  whom  it  is  our  duty  and  our  pleasure 
to  keep  in  contentment  and  in  health.  It  is  a  daily  joy 
to  watch  them  flocking,  as  you  have  seen  them  flock,  to 
their  meals.  The  heart  glows  to  think  of  what  we  have 
done.  I  see  the  faces  of  all  light  up  with  satisfaction  at 
the  prospect  of  the  food ;  it  is  the  only  thing  that  moves 
them.  Yes,  we  have  reduced  life  to  its  simplest  form. 
Here  is  true  happiness.  Nothing  to  hope,  nothing  to 
fear — except  accident ;  a  little  work  for  the  common  pres- 
ervation ;  a  body  of  wise  men  always  devising  measures 
for  the  common  good;  food  plentiful  and  varied;  gar- 
dens for  Bepose  and  recreation,  both  summer  and  winter; 
warmth,  shelter,  and  the  entire  absence  of  all  emotions. 
"Why,  the  very  faces  of  the  People  are  growing  all  alike — 
one  face  for  the  men,  and  another  for  the  women  ;  per- 
haps in  the  far-off  future  the  face  of  the  man  will  ap- 
proach nearer  and  nearer  to  that  of  the  woman,  and  so 
all  will  be  at  last  exactly  alike,  and  the  individual  will 
exist,  indeed,  no  more.  Then  there  will  be,  from  first  to 
last,  among  the  whole  multitude  neither  distinction  nor 
difference. 

It  is  a  face  which  fills  one  with  contentment,  though 
it  will  be  many  centuries  before  it  approaches  complete- 
ness. It  is  a  smootli  face,  there  are  no  lines  in  it ;  it  is 
a  grave  face,  the  lips  seldom  smile,  and  never  laugh  ;  tlie 


36  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

eyes  are  heavy,  and  move  slowly ;  there  has  already  been 
achieved,  though  the  change  has  been  very  gradual,  the 
complete  banishment  of  that  expression  which  has  been 
preserved  in  every  one  of  the  ancient  portraits,  which 
may  be  usefully  studied  for  purposes  of  contrast.  What- 
ever the  emotion  attempted  to  be  portrayed,  and  even 
when  the  face  was  supposed  to  be  at  rest,  there  was  al- 
ways behind,  visible  to  the  eye,  an  expression  of  anxiety 
or  eagerness.  Some  kind  of  pain  always  lies  upon  those 
old  faces,  even  upon  the  youngest.  How  could  it  be  oth- 
erwise ?  On  the  morrow  they  would  be  dead.  They  had 
to  crowd  into  a  few  days  whatever  they  could  grasp  of 
life. 

As  I  sit  there  and  watch  our  People  at  dinner,  I  see 
with  satisfaction  that  the  old  pain  has  gone  out  of  their 
faces.  They  have  lived  so  long  that  they  have  forgotten 
Death.  They  live  so  easily  that  they  are  contented  with 
life :  we  have  reduced  existence  to  the  simplest.  They 
eat  and  drink — it  is  their  only  pleasure  ;  they  work — it 
is  a  necessity  for  health  and  existence — but  their  work 
takes  them  no  longer  than  till  noontide ;  they  lie  in  the 
sun,  they  sit  in  the  shade,  they  sleep.  If  they  had  once 
any  knowledge,  it  is  now  forgotten ;  their  old  ambitions, 
their  old  desires,  all  are  forgotten.  They  sleep  and  eat, 
they  work  and  rest.  To  rest  and  to  eat  are  pleasures 
which  they  never  desire  to  end.  To  live  forever,  to  eat 
and  drink  forever  —  this  is  now  their  only  hope.  And 
this  has  been  accomplished  for  them  by  the  Holy  College. 
Science  has  justified  herself — this  is  the  outcome  of  man's 
long  search  for  generations  into  the  secrets  of  Nature. 
We,  who  have  carried  on  this  search,  have  at  length  suc- 
ceeded in  stripping  humanity  of  all  those  things  which 
formerly  made  existence  into-Ierable  to  him.  He  lives,  he 
eats,  he  sleeps.     Perhaps  —  I  know  not,  but  of  this  we 


GROUT,  SUFFRAGAN.  37 

sometimes  talk  in  the  College— I  say,  perhaps— we  may 
succeed  in  making  some  kind  of  artificial  food,  as  we 
compound  the  great  Arcanum,  with  simple  ingredients 
and  without  labor.  "We  may  also  extend  the  duration 
of  sleep  ;  we  may  thus  still  further  simplify  existence. 
Man  in  the  end— as  I  propose  to  make  and  mould  the 
People— will  sleep  until  Kature  calls  upon  him  to  awake 
and  eat.  lie  will  then  eat,  drink,  and  sleep  again,  while 
the  years  roll  by.  He  will  lie  heedless  of  all ;  he  will  be 
heedless  of  the  seasons,  heedless  of  the  centuries.  Time 
will  have  no  meaning  for  him— a  breathing,  living,  inar- 
ticulate mass  will  be  all  that  is  left  of  the  active,  eager, 
chattering  Man  of  the  Past. 

This  may  be  done  in  the  future,  when  yonder  labora- 
tory, which  we  call  the  House  of  Life,  shall  yield  the 
secrets  of  Nature  deeper  and  deeper  still.  At  present  we 
have  arrived  at  this  point— the  chief  pleasure  of  life  is 
to  eat  and  to  drink.  We  have  taught  the  People  so 
much,  of  all  the  tastes  which  formerly  gratified  man  this 
alone  remains.  We  provide  them  daily  with  a  sufficiency 
and  variety  of  food ;  there  are  so  many  kinds  of  food, 
and  the  combinations  are  so  endless,  that  practically  the 
choice  of  our  cooks  is  unlimited.  Good  food,  varied  food, 
well-cooked  food,  with  drink  also  varied  and  pure,  and 
the  best  that  can  be  made,  make  our  public  meals  a  daily 
joy.  We  have  learned  to  make  all  kinds  of  wine  from 
the  grapes  in  our  hot-houses.  It  is  so  abundant  that  ev- 
ery day,  all  the  year  round,  the  People  may  call  for  a 
ration  of  what  they  please.  We  make  also  beer  of  every 
kind,  cider,  perry,  and  mead.  The  gratification  of  tlie 
sense  of  taste  hel])s  to  remove  the  incentive  to  restless- 
ness or  discontent.  The  minds  of  most  are  occupied  by 
no  other  thought  than  that  of  the  last  feast  and  the  next ; 
if  tliey  were  to  revolt,  where  would  they  find  their  next 


38  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

meal  ?  At  the  outset  we  had,  I  confess,  grave  difficulties. 
There  was  not  in  existence  any  Holy  College.  We  drifted 
without  object  or  purpose.  For  a  long  time  the  old  am- 
bitions remained ;  the  old  passions  were  continued ;  the  old 
ideas  of  private  property  prevailed  ;  the  old  inequalities 
were  kept  up.  Presently  there  arose  from  those  who  had 
no  property  the  demand  for  a  more  equal  share.  The  cry 
was  fiercely  resisted ;  then  there  followed  civil  war  for  a 
space,  till  both  sides  were  horrified  by  the  bloodshed  that 
followed.  Time  also  was  on  the  side  of  them  who  re- 
belled. I  was  one,  because  at  the  time  when  the  whole 
nation  was  admitted  to  a  participation  in  the  great  Ar- 
canum, I  was  myself  a  young  man  of  nineteen,  employed 
as  a  washer  of  bottles  in  Dr.  Linister's  laboratory,  and 
therefore,  according  to  the  ideas  of  the  time,  a  very  hum- 
ble person.  Time  helped  us  in  an  unexpected  way.  Prop- 
erty was  in  the  hands  of  single  individuals.  Formerly 
they  died  and  were  succeeded  by  their  sons ;  now  the  sons 
grew  tired  of  waiting.  How  much  longer  were  their  fa- 
thers, who  grew  no  older,  to  keep  all  the  wealth  to  them- 
selves? Therefore,  the  civil  war  having  come  to  an  end, 
with  no  result  except  a  barren  peace,  the  revolutionary 
party  was  presently  joined  by  all  but  the  holders  of  prop- 
erty, and  the  State  took  over  to  itself  the  whole  wealth 
— that  is  to  say,  the  whole  land ;  there  is  no  other  wealth. 
Since  that  time  there  has  been  no  private  property ;  for 
since  it  was  clearly  unjust  to  take  away  from  the  father 
in  order  to  give  it  to  the  son,  with  no  limitation  as  to  the 
time  of  enjoyment,  everything  followed  the  land — great 
houses,  which  were  allowed  to  fall  into  ruin  ;  pictures 
and  works  of  art,  libraries,  jewels,  which  are  in  Museums ; 
and  money,  which,  however,  ceased  to  be  of  value  as  soon 
as  there  was  nothing  which  could  be  bought. 

As  for  me,  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  perceive — Dr.  Lin- 


GROUT,  SUFFRAGAN.  39 

ister  daily  impressed  it  upon  me — that  of  all  occupations, 
that  of  Physicist  would  very  quickly  become  the  most 
important.  I  therefore  remained  in  ray  employment, 
worked,  read,  experimented,  and  learned  all  that  my  mas- 
ter had  to  teach  me.  The  other  professions,  indeed,  fell 
into  decay  more  speedily  than  some  of  us  expected.  There 
could  be"  no  more  lawyers  when  there  was  no  more  prop- 
erty. Even  libel,  which  was  formerly  the  cause  of  many 
actions,  became  harmless  when  a  man  could  not  be  in- 
jured; and,  besides,  it  is  impossible  to  libel  any  man  when 
there  are  no  longer  any  rules  of  conduct  except  the  one 
duty  of  work,  which  is  done  in  the  eyes  of  all  and  cannot 
be  shirked.  And  how  could  Keligion  survive  the  remov- 
al of  Death  to  some  possible  remote  future  ?  They  tried, 
it  is  true,  to  keep  up  the  pretence  of  it,  and  many,  espe- 
cially women,  clung  to  the  old  forms  of  faith  for  I  know 
not  how  long.  With  the  great  mass,  religion  ceased  to  have 
any  influence  as  soon  as  life  was  assured.  As  for  Art, 
Learning,  Science — other  than  that  of  Physics,  Biology, 
and  Medicine  —  all  gradually  decayed  and  died  away. 
And  the  old  foolish  pursuit  of  Literature,  which  once  oc- 
cupied so  many,  and  was  even  held  in  a  kind  of  honor — 
the  writing  of  histories,  poems,  dramas,  novels,  essays  on 
human  life  —  this  also  decayed  and  died,  because  men 
ceased  to  be  anxious  about  their  past  or  their  future,  and 
were  at  last  contented  to  dwell  in  the  present. 

Another  and  a  most  important  change  which  may  be 
noted  was  the  gradual  decline  and  disappearance  of  the 
passion  called  Love.  This  was  once  a  curious  and  inex- 
plicable yearning  —  so  much  is  certain  —  of  two  young 
people  towards  each  other,  so  that  they  were  never  con- 
tf3nt  unless  they  were  together,  and  longed  to  live  apart 
from  the  rest  of  the  world,  each  trying  to  make  the  other 
happier.     At  least,  this  is  as  I  read  history.     Fur  my  own 


40  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

part,  as  I  was  constantly  occupied  with  Science,  I  never 
felt  this  passion ;  or  if  I  did,  then  I  have  quite  forgotten 
it.  Now,  at  the  outset  people  who  were  in  love  rejoiced 
beyond  measure  that  their  happiness  would  last  so  long. 
They  began,  so  long  as  the  words  had  any  meaning,  to  call 
each  other  Angels,  Goddesses,  Divinely  Fair,  possessed  of 
every  perfect  gift,  with  other  extravagancies,  at  the  mere 
recollection  of  which  we  should  now  blush.  Presently 
they  grew  tired  of  each  other ;  they  no  longer  lived  apart 
from  the  rest  of  the  world.  They  separated ;  or,  if  they 
continued  to  walk  together,  it  was  from  force  of  habit. 
Some  still  continue  thus  to  sit  side  by  side.  No  new  con- 
nections were  formed.  People  ceased  desiring  to  make 
others  happy,  because  the  State  began  to  provide  for  every- 
body's happiness.  The  whole  essence  of  the  old  society 
was  a  fight.  Everybody  fought  for  existence.  Everybody 
trampled  on  the  weaker.  If  a  man  loved  a  woman,  he 
fought  for  her  as  well  as  for  himself.  Love?  Why, 
when  the  true  principle  of  life  is  recognized — the  right 
of  every  individual  to  his  or  her  share — and  that  an  equal 
share  in  everything — and  when  the  continuance  of  life 
is  assured — what  room  is  there  for  love?  The  very  fact 
of  the  public  life — the  constant  companionship,  the  open 
mingling  of  women  with  men,  and  this  for  year  after  year 
— the  same  women  with  the  same  men — has  destroyed  the 
mvstery  which  formerly  hung  about  womanhood,  and  was 
in  itself  the  principal  cause  of  love. 

It  is  gone,  therefore,  and  with  it  the  most  disturbing 
element  of  life.  Without  love,  without  ambition,  without 
suffering,  without  religion,  without  quarrelling,  without 
private  rights,  without  rank  or  class,  life  is  calm,  gentle, 
undisturbed.  Therefore,  they  all  sit  down  to  dinner  iu 
peace  and  contentment,  every  man's  mind  intent  upon 
nothing  but  the  bill  of  fare. 


GROUT,  SUFFRAGAN.  41 

This  evening,  directed  by  the  observation  of  the  Arch 
Physician,  I  turned  my  eyes  ujdou  the  girl  Christine,  who 
sat  beside  her  grandfather.  I  observed,  first — but  the 
fact  inspired  me  with  no  suspicion — that  she  was  no  long- 
er a  child,  but  a  woman  grown ;  and  I  began  to  wonder 
when  she  would  come  with  the  rest  for  the  Arcanum. 
Most  women,  when  births  were  common  among  us,  used 
to  come  at  about  five-and-twenty ;  that  is  to  say,  in  the 
first  year  or  two  of  full  womanhood,  before  their  worst 
enemies — where  there  were  two  women,  in  the  old  days, 
there  were  two  enemies — could  say  that  they  had  begun 
to  fall  off.  If  you  look  round  our  table,  you  will  see  very 
few  women  older  than  twenty-four,  and  very  few  men 
older  than  thirty.  There  were  many  women  at  this  ta- 
ble who  might,  perhaps,  have  been  called  beautiful  in  the 
old  times ;  though  now  the  men  had  ceased  to  think  of 
beauty,  and  the  women  had  ceased  to  desire  admiration. 
Yet,  if  regular  features,  large  eyes,  small  mou'ths,  a  great 
quantity  of  hair,  and  a  rounded  figure  are  beautiful,  then 
there  were  many  at  the  table  who  might  have  been  called 
beautiful.  But  the  girl  Christine — I  observed  the  fact 
with  scientific  interest — was  so  different  from  the  other 
women  that  she  seemed  another  kind  of  creature. 

Her  eyes  were  soft ;  there  is  no  scientific  terra  to  express 
this  softness  of  youth — one  observes  it  especially  in  the 
young  of  the  cervus  kind.  There  was  also  a  curious  soft- 
ness on  her  cheek,  as  if  something  would  be  rubbed  away 
if  one  touched  it.  And  her  voice  differed  from  that  of 
her  elder  sisters;  it  was  curiously  gentle,  and  full  of  that 
quality  which  may  be  remarked  in  the  wood-dove  when 
she  pairs  in  spring.  They  used  to  call  it  tenderness ;  but, 
since  the  thing  itself  disappeared,  the  w^ord  has  naturally 
fallen  out  of  use. 

Now,  I  might  have  observed  with  suspicion,  whereas  I 


0  THE  INNER  HOUSE. 

only  remarked  it  as  something  strange,  that  the  company 
among  which  Christine  and  the  old  man  sat  were  curious- 
ly stirred  and  uneasy.  They  were  disturbed  out  of  their 
habitual  tranquillity  because  the  girl  was  discoursing  to 
them.  She  was  telling  them  what  she  had  learned  about 
the  Past. 

"  Oh,"  I  heard  her  say,  "  it]was  a  beautiful  time !  Why 
did  the}"  ever  suffer  it  to  perisli  ?  Do  you  mean  that  you 
actually  remember  nothing  of  it  V 
They  looked  at  each  other  sheepishly. 
"  There  were  soldiers — men  were  soldiers ;  they  went 
out  to  light,  with  bands  of  music  and  the  shouts  of  the 
people.  There  were  whole  armies  of  soldiers — thousands 
of  them.  They  dressed  in  beautiful  glittering  clothes. 
Do  you  forget  that  ?"" 

One  of  the  men  murnmred,  hazily,  that  there  ^oere  sol- 
diers. 

"  And  there  were  sailors,  who  went  upon  the  sea  in 
great  ships.  Jack  Carera" — she  turned  to  one  of  them 
— "you  are  a  sailor,  too.     You  ought  to  remember.'" 

"  1  remember  the  sailors  very  well  indeed,"  said  this 
young  man,  readily. 

I  always  had  my  doubts  about  the  wisdom  of  admitting 
our  sailors  among  the  People.  We  have  a  few  ships  for 
the  carriage  of  those  things  which  as  yet  we  have  not  suc- 
ceeded in  growing  for  ourselves ;  these  are  manned  by  a 
few  hundred  sailors  who  long  ago  volunteered,  and  have 
gone  on  ever  since.  They  are  a  brave  race,  ready  to  face 
the  most  terrible  dangers  of  tempest  and  shipwreck ;  but 
they  are  also  a  dangerous,  restless,  talkative,  questioning 
tribe.  They  have,  in  fact,  preserved  almost  as  much  inde- 
pendence as  the  College  itself.  They  are  now  confined 
to  their  own  port  of  Sheerness. 

Then  the  girl  began  to  tell  some  pestilent  story  of  love 


GROUT,  SUFFRAGAN.  43 

and  shipwreck  and  rescue ;  and  at  hearing  it  some  of 
them  looked  puzzled  and  some  pained ;  but  the  sailor  lis- 
tened with  all  his  ears. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  from,  Christine?" 

"  Where  I  get  everything — from  the  old  Library.  Come 
and  read  it  in  the  book.  Jack." 

"  I  am  not  much  hand  at  reading.  But  some  day,  per- 
haps after  next  voyage,  Christine." 

The  girl  poured  out  a  glass  of  claret  for  the  old  man. 
Then  she  went  on  telling  them  stories;  but  most  of  her 
neighbors^  seemed  neither  to  hear  nor  to  comprehend. 
Only  the  sailor-man  listened  and  nodded.  Then  she 
laughed  out  loud. 

At  this  sound,  so  strange,  so  unexpected,  everybody 
within  hearing  jumped.  Her  table  was  in  the  Hall  next 
to  our  own,  so  that  we  heard  the  laugh  quite  plainly. 

The  Arch  Physician  looked  round  approvingly. 

"  How  many  years  since  we  heard  a  good,  honest  young 
laugh.  Suffragan?  Give  us  more  children,  and  soften  our 
hearts  for  us.  But,  no;  the  heart  you  want  is  the  hard, 
crusted,  selfish  heart.  See  !  No  one  asks  why  she  laugh- 
ed. They  are  all  eating  again  now,  just  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.     Happy,  enviable  People!" 

Presently  he  turned  to  me  and  remarked,  in  his  lofty 
manner,  as  if  he  was  above  all  the  world, 

"  You  cannot  explain,  Suffragan,  why,  at  an  unexpect- 
ed touch,  a  sound,  a  voice,  a  trifle,  the  memory  may  be 
suddenly  awakened  to  things  long,  long  past  and  forgot- 
ten. Do  you  know  what  that  laugh  caused  me  to  re- 
member ?  I  cannot  explain  why,  nor  can  you.  It  recalled 
the  evening  of  the  Great  Discovery — not  the  Discovery 
itself,  but  quite  another  thing.  I  went  there  more  to 
meet  a  girl  than  to  hear  what  the  German  had  to  say. 
As  to  that  I  expected   very  little.      To   meet  that  girl 


44  THE  INNER  HOUSE. 

seemed  of  far  more  importance.  I  meant  to  make  love 
to  her — love,  Suffragan — a  thing  which  you  can  never 
understand — real,  genuine  love !  I  meant  to  marry  her. 
Well,  I  did  meet  her ;  and  I  arranged  for  a  convenient 
place  where  we  could  meet  again  after  the  Lecture.  Then 
came  the  Discovery ;  and  I  was  carried  away,  body  and 
soul,  and  forgot  the  girl  and  love  and  everything  in  the 
stupefaction  of  this  most  wonderful  Discovery,  of  which 
we  have  made,  between  us,  such  admirable  use." 

You  never  knew  whether  the  Arch  Physician  was  in 
earnest  or  not.  Truly,  we  had  made  a  most  beautiful  use 
of  the  Discovery ;  but  it  was  not  in  the  way  that  Dr.  Lin- 
ister  would  have  chosen. 

"  All  this  remembered  just  because  a  girl  laughed !  Suf- 
fragan, Science  cannot  explain  all." 

I  shall  never  pretend  to  deny  that  Dr.  Linister's  powers 
as  a  physicist  were  of  the  first  order,  nor  that  his  Discov- 
eries warranted  his  election  to  the  Headship  of  the  Col- 
lege. Yet,  something  was  due,  perhaps,  to  his  tall  and 
commanding  figure,  and  to  the  look  of  authority  which 
reigned  naturally  on  his  face,  and  to  the  way  in  which  he 
always  stepped  into  the  first  rank.  He  was  always  the 
Chief,  long  before  the  College  of  Physicians  assumed  the 
whole  authority,  in  everything  that  he  joined.  He  op- 
posed the  extinction  of  property,  and  would  have  had 
everybody  win  what  he  could,  and  keep  it  as  long  as  he 
would ;  he  opposed  the  Massacre  of  the  Old ;  he  was  op- 
posed, in  short,  to  the  majority  of  the  College.  Yet  he 
was  our  Chief.  His  voice  was  clear,  and  what  he  said  al- 
ways produced  its  effect,  though  it  did  not  upset  my  solid 
majority,  or  thwart  the  Grand  Advance  of  the  Triumph 
of  Science.  As  for  me,  my  position  has  been  won  by 
sheer  work  and  merit.  My  figure  is  not  commanding ;  I 
am  short-sighted  and  dark-visaged ;  ray  voice  is  rough ; 


GROUT,  SUFFRAGAN.  45 

and  as  for  manners,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  But 
in  Science  there  is  but  one  second  to  Linister — and  that  is 
Grout. 

When  the  supper  came  to  an  end,  we  rose  and  marclied 
back  to  the  College  in  the  same  state  and  order  with 
which  we  had  arrived.  As  for  the  people,  some  of  them 
went  out  into  the  Garden  ;  some  remained  in  the  Hall.  It 
was  then  nine  o'clock,  and  twilight.  Some  went  straight 
to  their  own  rooms,  where  they  would  smoke  tobacco — an 
old  habit  allowed  by  the  College  on  account  of  its  sooth- 
ing and  sedative  influence — before  going  to  bed.  By  ten 
o'clock  everybody  would  be  in  bed  and  asleep.  What 
more  beautiful  proof  of  the  advance  of  Science  than  the 
fact  that  the  whole  of  the  twenty-four  thousand  people  who 
formed  the  population  of  Canterbury  dropped  off  to  sleep 
the  moment  they  laid  their  heads  upon  the  pillow  ?  This 
it  is  to  have  learned  the  proper  quantities  and  kinds  of 
food ;  the  proper  amount  of  bodily  exercise  and  work ; 
and  the  complete  subjugation  of  all  the  ancient  forces  of 
unrest  and  disquiet.  To  be  sure,  we  were  all,  with  one 
or  two  exceptions,  in  the  very  prime  and  flower  of  early 
manhood  and  womanhood.  It  would  be  hard,  indeed,  if 
a  young  man  of  thirty  should  not  sleep  well. 

I  was  presently  joined  in  the  garden  of  the  College  by 
the  Arch  Physician. 

"  Grout,"  he  said,  "  let  us  sit  and  talk.  My  mind  is 
disturbed.  It  is  always  disturbed  when  the  memory  of 
the  Past  is  forced  upon  me." 

"  The  Evil  Past,"  I  said. 

"  If  you  please — the  Evil  Past.  The  question  is,  wheth- 
er it  was  not  infinitely  more  tolerable  for  mankind  than 
the  Evil  Present  ?" 

We  argued  out  the  point ;  but  it  was  one  on  which  we 
could  never  agree,  for  he  remained  saturated   with  the 


46  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

old  ideas  of  private  property  and  individualism.  He 
maintained  that  there  are  no  Eights  of  Man  at  all,  except 
his  Right  to  what  he  can  get  and  what  he  can  keep.  He 
even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  true  use  of  the  Great 
Discovery  should  have  been  to  cause  the  incompetent,  the 
idle,  the  hereditarily  corrupt,  and  the  vicious  to  die  pain- 
lessly. 

"As  to  those  who  were  left,"  he  said,  "I  would  have 
taught  them  the  selfishness  of  staying  too  long.  When 
they  had  taken  time  for  work  and  play  and  society  and 
love,  they  should  have  been  exhorted  to  go  away  of  their 
own  accord,  and  to  make  room  for  their  children.  Then 
we  should  have  had  always  the  due  succession  of  father 
and  son,  mother  and  daughter ;  always  age  and  manhood 
and  childhood ;  and  always  the  world  advancing  by  the 
efforts  of  those  who  would  have  time  to  work  for  an  ap- 
preciable period.    Instead,  we  have" — he  waved  his  hand. 

I  was  going  to  reply,  when  suddenly  a  voice  light,  clear, 
and  sweet  broke  upon  our  astonished  ears.  'Twas  the 
voice  of  a  woman,  and  she  was  singing.  At  first  I  hardly 
listened,  because  I  knew  that  it  could  be  none  other  than 
the  child  Christine,  whom,  indeed,  I  had  often  heard  sing- 
ing. It  is  natural,  I  believe,  for  children  to  sing.  But 
the  Arch  Physician  listened,  first  with  wonder,  and  then 
with  every  sign  of  amazement.  How  could  he  be  con- 
cerned by  the  voice  of  a  child  singing  silly  verses  ?  Then 
I  heard  the  last  lines  of  her  song,  which  she  sang,  I  admit, 
with  great  vigor : 

"  Oh,  Love  is  worth  the  whole  broad  earth ; 
Oh,  Love  is  worth  the  whole  broad  earth; 
Give  that,  you  give  us  all !" 

"Grout,"  cried  the  Arch  Physician,  in  tones  of  the 
deepest  agitation,  "  I  choke — I  am  stifled.    Listen  !    They 


CniilSTINE    AT    HOME.  47 

are  words  that  I  wrote — I  nijsclf  wrote — with  my  own 
hand — long,  long  ago  in  the  Past.  I  wrote  them  for  a 
girl — the  girl  I  told  you  of  at  dinner.  I  loved  her.  1 
thought  never  again  to  feel  as  I  felt  then.  Yet  the  mem- 
ory of  that  feeling  has  come  back  to  me.  Is  it  possible  ? 
Can  some  things  never  die?  Can  we  administer  no  drug 
that  will  destroy  memory  ?  For  the  earth  reeled  beneath 
my  feet  again,  and  my  senses  reeled,  and  I  would  once 
more — yes,  I  would  once  more  have  given  all  the  world — 
yes,  life — even  life — only  to  call  that  woman  mine  for  a 
year — a  month — a  day — an  hour  !" 

The  Arch  Phj^sieian  made  this  astonishing  confession 
in  a  broken  and  agitated  voice.  Then  he  rushed  away, 
and  left  me  alone  in  the  summer-house. 

The  singer  could  certainly  have  been  none  other  than 
the  girl  Cliristinc.  How  should  she  get  hold  of  Dr.  Liu- 
ister's  love-song  ?  Strange !  She  had  disturbed  our  peace 
at  supper  by  langhing,  and  she  had  agitated  the  Arch 
Physician  himself  to  such  a  degree  as  I  should  have  be- 
lieved impossible  by  singing  a  foolish  old  song.  When  I 
went  to  bed  there  came  into  my  mind  some  of  the  old  idle 
talk  about  witches,  and  1  even  dreamed  that  we  were  burn- 
ing a  witch  who  was  filling  our  minds  with  disturbing 
thoughts. 


CHAPTER  III. 

CHRISTINE    AT    HOME. 


When  the  girl  Christine  walked  through  the  loitering 
crowd  outside  the  Hall,  some  of  the  people  looked  after 
her  with  wondering  eyes. 

"  Strange !"  said  a  woman.  "  She  laughed  !  She  laugh- 
ed!" 


48  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

"  A}'-,"  said  another, "  we  have  forgotten  how  to  laugh. 
But  we  used  to  laugh  before" — she  broke  oS  with  a  sigh. 

"  And  she  sings,"  said  a  third.  "  I  have  heard  her  sing 
like  a  lark  in  the  Museum." 

"  Once,"  said  the  first  woman,  "  we  used  to  sing  as  well 
as  laugh.  I  remember,  we  used  to  sing.  She  makes  us 
remember  the  old  days." 

"  The  bad  old  days  " — it  was  one  of  the  Assistant  Phy- 
sicians who  admonished  her — "the  times  when  nothing 
was  certain,  not  even  life,  from  day  to  day.  It  should 
bring  you  increased  happiness  to  think  sometimes  of  those 
old  times." 

The  first  woman  who  had  spoken  was  one  whom  men 
would  have  called  beautiful  in  those  old  times,  when  their 
heads  were  turned  by  such  a  thing  as  a  woman's  face.  She 
was  pale  of  cheek  and  had  black  eyes,  which,  in  those  days 
of  passion  and  jealousy,  might  have  flashed  like  lightning. 
Now  they  were  dull.  She  was  shapely  of  limb  and  figure 
too,  with  an  ample  cheek  and  a  full  mouth.  Formerly, 
in  the  days  of  love  and  rage,  those  limbs  would  have  been 
lithe  and  active ;  now  they  were  heavy  and  slow.  Heavi- 
ness of  movement  and  of  eyes  sensibly  grows  upon  our 
people.  I  welcome  every  indication  of  advance  towards 
the  Perfect  Type  of  Humanity  which  will  do  nothing  but 
lie  down,  breathe,  eat,  and  sleep. 

"Yes,"  she  replied  with  a  deep  sigh.  "Nothing  was 
certain.  The  bad  old  times,  when  people  died.  But  there 
was  love,  and  we  danced  and  sung  and  laughed."  She 
sighed  again,  and  walked  away  alone,  slowly,  hanging  her 
head. 

The  girl  passed  through  them,  leading  the  old  man  by 
the  hand. 

I  know  very  well,  now,  that  we  ought  to  have  been  sus- 
picious.    What  meant  the  gleam  and  sparkle  of  her  eyes, 


CHRISTINE    AT   HOME.  49 

when  all  other  eyes  were  dull  ?  What  meant  the  partin<^ 
of  her  lips  and  the  smile  which  always  lay  upon  them, 
when  no  one  else  smiled  at  all?  Why  did  she  carry  her 
head  erect,  when  the  rest  walked  with  hanging  heads? 
Why,  again,  did  she  sing,  when  no  one  else  sang  ?  Why 
did  she  move  as  if  her  limbs  were  on  springs,  when  all 
the  rest  went  slowly  and  heavily?  These  signs  meant 
mischief.  I  took  them  for  the  natural  accompaniments 
of  youth.  They  meant  more  than  youth:  they  meant 
dangerous  curiosity;  they  meant  —  presently  —  Purpose. 
How  should  one  of  the  People  dare  to  have  a  Purpose 
unknown  to  the  Sacred  College  ?     You  shall  hear. 

All  that  followed  was,  in  fact,  due  to  our  own  blindness. 
We  should  long  before  have  shut  up  every  avenue  which 
might  lead  the  curious  to  the  study  of  the  Past ;  we  should 
have  closed  the  Museum  and  the  Library  altogether.  We 
did  not,  because  we  lived  in  the  supposition  that  the  more 
the  old  times  were  investigated,  the  more  the  people  would 
be  satisfied  with  the  Present.  When,  indeed,  one  looks 
at  the  pictures  of  battle,  murder,  cruelty,  and  all  kinds  of 
passion  ;  when  one  reads  the  old  books,  full  of  foolishness 
which  can  only  be  excused  on  the  plea  of  a  life  too  short 
to  have  a  right  comprehension  of  anything,  it  is  amazing 
that  the  scene  does  not  strike  the  observer  with  a  kind  of 
horror.  When,  which  is  seldom,  I  carry  my  own  memory 
back  to  the  old  times  and  see  myself  before  I  went  to  the 
Laboratory,  boy-of-all-woik  to  a  Brewery,  ordered  here  and 
there,  working  all  day  long  with  no  other  prospect  than  to 
be  a  servant  for  a  short  span  of  life  and  then  to  die;  when 
I  remember  the  people  among  whom  I  lived,  poor,  starv- 
ing, dependent  from  day  to  day  on  the  chance  of  work, 
or,  at  best,  from  week  to  week ;  when  I  think  of  the  mis- 
ery from  which  these  poor  people  have  been  rescued,  I 
cannot  find  within  me  a  spark  of  sympathy  for  the  mis- 
4 


50  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

guided  wretches  who  vohintarily  exchanged  their  cahn  and 
happy  Present  for  the  tumult  and  anxiety  of  the  Past. 
However,  we  are  not  all  reasonable,  as  3'ou  shall  hear. 

It  was  already  twilight  outside,  and  in  the  Museum 
there  was  only  light  enough  to  see  that  a  few  persons 
were  assembled  in  the  Great  Hall.  Christine  placed  her 
grandfather  in  a  high-backed  wooden  chair,  in  which  he 
spent  most  of  his  time,  clutching  at  the  arms  and  fighting 
with  his  asthma.  Then  she  turned  up  the  electric  light. 
It  showed  a  large,  rather  lofty  room,  oblong  in  shape.  Old 
arms  were  arranged  round  the  walls ;  great  glass  -  cases 
stood  about,  filled  with  a  collection  of  all  kinds  of  things 
preserved  from  the  old  times.  There  were  illustrations  of 
their  arts,  now  entirely  useless :  such  as  the  jewels  they 
wore,  set  in  bracelets  and  necklaces ;  their  gloves,  fans, 
rings,  umbrellas,  pictures,  and  statuary.  Then  there  were 
cases  tilled  with  the  old  implements  of  writing — paper,  ink- 
stands, pens,  and  so  forth — the  people  have  long  since  left 
off  writing;  there  were  boxes  full  of  coins  with  which 
they  bought  things,  and  for  which  they  sold  their  freedom ; 
there  were  things  with  which  they  played  games — many 
of  them  dangerous  ones — and  whiled  away  the  tedium  of 
their  short  lives :  there  were  models  of  the  ships  in  which 
they  went  to  sea,  also  models  of  all  kinds  of  engines  and 
machines  which  slaves — they  were  nearly  all  slaves — made 
for  the  purpose  of  getting  more  money  for  their  masters ; 
there  were  also  crowns,  coronets,  and  mitres,  which  former- 
ly belonged  to  people  who  possessed  what  they  called  rank ; 
there  were  the  praying-books  which  were  formerly  used 
every  day  in  great  buildings  like  the  House  of  Life ; 
there  were  specimens  of  legal  documents  on  parchment, 
by  the  drawing  up  of  which,  when  law  existed,  a  great 
many  people  procured  a  contemptible  existence ;  there 
were  also  models,  with  figures  of  the  people  in  them,  of 


CHRISTINE   AT  HOME.  51 

Parliament  Houses,  Churches,  and  Courts  of  Justice; 
there  were  life-size  models  of  soldiers  in  uniform,  when 
men  were  of  understanding  so  contemptible  as  to  be 
tempted  to  risk  life— even  life — in  exchange  for  a  o'old- 
laced  coat!     But  then  our  ancestors  were  indescribably 

fooh'sli.     There  were  musical  instruments  of  all  kinds I 

have  always  been  glad  that  music  fell  so  soon  into  disuse. 
It  is  impossible  to  cultivate  contentment  while  music  is 
practised.  Besides  the  ordinary  M'eapons  —  sword,  pike, 
and  javelin— there  were  all  kinds  of  horrible  inventions, 
such  as  vast  cannons,  torpedo  boats,  dynamite  shells,  and  so 
forth,  for  the  destruction  of  towns,  ships,  and  armor.  It 
is  a  great  and  splendid  Collection,  but  it  ought  to  have 
been  long,  long  before  transferred  to  the  custody  of  the 
Holy  College. 

The  girl  looked  inquiringly  at  her  visitors,  counting 
them  all.  There  were  ten— namely,  five  men  and  five 
women.  Like  all  the  people,  they  were  young — the  men 
about  thirty,  the  women  about  twenty-two  or  twenty-three. 
The  men  were  dressed  in  their  blue  flannels,  with  a  flat 
cap  of  the  same  material ;  the  women  in  their  erav  beio-e 
short  frock,  the  flat  gray  cap  under  which  their  hair  was 
gatliered,  gray  stockings,  and  heavy  shoes.  The  dress  was, 
in  fact,  invented  by  myself  for  both  sexes.  It  has  many 
advantages.  First,  there  is  always  plenty  of  the  stuff  to 
be  had ;  next,  both  flannel  and  beige  are  soft,  M-arm,  and 
healthy  textures— with  such  a  dress  there  is  no  possibility 
of  distinction  or  of  superiority ;  and,  lastly,  with  such  a 
dress  the  women  have  lost  all  power  of  setting  forth  their 
attractions  so  as  to  charm  the  men  with  new  fashions, 
crafty  subtleties  of  dress,  provocations  of  the  troublesome 
passion  of  love  in  the  shape  of  jewels,  ribbons,  gloves,  and 
the  like.  No  one  wears  gloves :  all  the  women's  hands 
are  hard;  and  although  they  are  still  young  and   their 


52  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

faces  are  unchanged,  their  eyes  are  dull  and  hard.  I  am 
pleased  to  think  that  there  is  no  more  foolishness  of  love 
among  us. 

The  people  were  standing  or  sitting  about,  not  together, 
but  separately  —  each  by  himself  or  herself.  This  ten- 
dency to  solitary  habits  is  a  most  healthy  indication  of 
the  advance  of  humanity.  Self-preservation  is  the  first 
Law — separate  and  solitary  existence  is  the  last  condition 
— of  mankind.  They  were  silent  and  regardless  of  each 
other.  Their  attitude  showed  the  listlessness  of  their 
minds. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  here,"  said  Christine.  "  You  prom- 
ised you  would  not  fail  me.  And  yet,  though  you  prom- 
ised, I  feared  that  at  the  last  moment  you  might  change 
your  mind.  I  was  afraid  that  you  would  rather  not  be 
disturbed  in  the  even  current  of  your  thoughts." 

"  Why  disturb  our  minds  T  asked  one,  a  woman.  "  We 
were  at  peace  before  you  began  to  talk  of  the  Past.  We 
had  almost  forgotten  it.  And  it  is  so  long  ago  " — her 
voice  sank  to  a  murmur — "  so  long  ago." 

They  all  echoed, 

"  It  is  so  long  ago — so  long  ago !" 

"Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  "you  call  this  to  be  at  peace! 
Why,  if  you  were  so  many  stones  in  the  garden  you  could 
not  be  more  truly  at  peace.  To  work,  to  rest,  to  eat, 
to  sleep — you  call  that  Life !  And  yet  you  can  remem- 
ber— if  you  please — the  time  when  you  were  full  of  activ- 
ity and  hope." 

"  If  to  remember  is  to  regret,  why  should  we  invite  the 
pain  of  regret  ?  We  cannot  have  the  old  life  except  with 
the  old  conditions  ;  the  short  life  and  the — " 

"If  I  could  remember — if  I  had  ever  belonged  to  the 
Past,"  the  girl  interrupted,  quickly ;  "  oh,  I  would  re- 
member every  moment — I  would  live  every  day  of  the 


CHRISTINE  AT  HOME.  63 

old  life  over  and  over  again.  But  I  can  do  nothing — 
nothing — but  read  of  the  splendid  Past  and  look  forward 
to  such  a  future  as  your  own.  Alas !  why  was  I  born  at 
all,  since  I  was  born  into  such  a  world  as  this  ?  Why  was 
I  called  into  existence  wlicn  all  the  things  of  which  I 
read  every  day  have  passed  away  ?  And  what  remains  in 
their  place  ?" 

"  We  have  Life,"  said  one  of  the  men,  but  not  confi- 
dently. 

"  Life !  Yes— and  what  a  life !  Oh,  what  a  life !  Well, 
we  waste  time.  Listen  now — and  if  you  can,  for  once  for- 
get the  present  and  recall  the  past.  Do  not  stay  to  think 
how  great  a  gulf  lies  between  ;  do  not  count  the  years — 
indeed,  you  cannot.  Whether  they  are  one  hundred  or 
live  hundred  they  do  not  know,  even  at  the  Holy  College 
itself.  I  am  sure  it  will  make  you  happier — 'twill  console 
and  comfort  you — in  this  our  life  of  desperate  monotony, 
only  to  remember — to  recall — how  you  used  to  live." 

They  answered  with  a  look  of  blank  bewilderment. 

"  It  is  so  long  ago — so  long  ago,"  said  one  of  them 
again. 

"  Look  around  you.  Here  are  all  the  things  that  used 
to  be  your  own.  Let  them  help  you  to  remember.  Here 
are  the  arms  that  the  men  carried  when  they  went  out  to 
fight ;  here  are  the  jewels  that  the  women  wore.  Think 
of  your  dress  in  the  days  when  you  were  allowed  to  dress, 
and  we  did  not  all  wear  frocks  of  gray  beige,  as  if  all 
women  were  exactly  alike.     Will  that  not  help  ?" 

They  looked  about  them  helplessly.  No,  they  did  not 
yet  remember;  their  dull  eyes  were  filled  with  a  kind  of 
anxious  wonder,  as  might  be  seen  in  one  rudely  awakened 
out  of  sleep.  They  looked  at  the  things  in  the  great  room, 
but  that  seemed  to  bring  nothing  back  to  their  minds. 
The   Present  was    round    them    like   a   net  which    thev 


54  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

could  neither  cut  through  nor  see  through;  it  was  a  veil 
around  them  through  which  they  could  not  pass.  It  had 
been  so  long  with  them ;  it  was  so  unchanging ;  for  so 
long  they  had  had  nothing  to  expect ;  for  so  long,  there- 
fore, they  had  not  cared  to  look  back.  The  Holy  College 
had  produced,  in  fact,  what  it  had  proposed  and  designed. 
The  minds  of  the  people  had  become  quiescent.  And  to 
think  that  so  beautiful  a  state  of  things  should  be  de- 
stroyed by  a  girl — the  only  child  in  the  Community  ! 

"  Will  it  help,"  said  the  girl,  "  if  we  turn  down  the 
light  a  little  ?  So.  Now  we  are  almost  in  darkness,  but 
for  the  moonlight  through  the  window.  In  the  old  times, 
when  you  were  children,  I  have  read  that  you  loved  to  sit 
too-ether  and  to  tell  stories.   Let  us  tell  each  other  stories." 

Nobody  replied ;  but  the  young  man  called  Jack  took 
Christine's  hand  and  held  it. 

"  Let  us  try,"  said  the  girl  again.  "  I  will  tell  you  a 
story.  Long  ago  there  were  people  called  gentlefolk. 
Grandad  here  was  a  gentleman.  I  have  read  about  them 
in  the  old  books.  I  wonder  if  any  of  you  remember 
those  people.  They  were  exempt  from  work ;  the  lower 
sort  worked  for  them  ;  they  led  a  life  of  ease ;  they  made 
their  own  work  for  themselves.  Some  of  the  men  fought 
for  their  country — it  was  in  the  old  time,  you  know,  when 
men  still  fought;  some  worked  for  their  country;  some 
worked  for  the  welfare  of  those  who  worked  for  bread ; 
some  only  amused  themselves ;  some  were  profligates,  and 
did  wicked  things — " 

She  paused — no  one  responded. 

"The  women  had  no  work  to  do  at  all.  They  onlj'^ 
occupied  themselves  in  making  everybody  happy;  they 
were  treated  with  the  greatest  respect ;  they  were  not 
allowed  to  do  anything  at  all  that  could  be  done  for  them ; 
they  played  and  sang ;   they  painted  and  embroidered ; 


CHRISTINE   AT   HOME.  55 

they  knew  foreign  languages ;  they  constantly  inspired 
the  men  to  do  great  things,  even  if  they  should  be  killed." 

Here  all  shuddered  and  trembled.  Christine  made 
haste  to  change  the  subject. 

"They  wore  beautiful  dresses— think — dresses  of  silk 
and  satin,  embroidered  with  gold,  trimmed  with  lace; 
they  had  necklaces,  bracelets,  and  rings ;  their  hands  were 
white,  and  they  wore  long  gloves  to  their  elbows ;  they 
dressed  their  hair  as  they  pleased.  Some  wore  it  long, 
like  this."  She  pulled  off  her  flat  cap,  and  threw  back 
her  long  tresses,  and  quickly  turned  up  the  light.  She 
was  transformed  !  The  women  started  and  gasped.  "  Take 
off  your  caps  I"  she  ordered.  They  obeyed,  and  at  sight 
of  the  flowing  locks  that  fell  upon  their  shoulders,  curling, 
rippling,  flowing,  their  eyes  brightened,  but  only  for  a 
moment. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "  they  wore  their  beautiful  hair  as 
they  pleased.  Oh !" — she  gathered  in  her  hands  the  flow- 
ing tresses  of  one — "you  have  such  long  and  beautiful 
hair !  It  is  a  shame — it  is  a  shame  to  hide  it.  Think  of 
the  lovely  dresses  to  match  this  beauty  of  the  hair !" 

"Oh,"  cried  the  women,  "we  remember  the  dresses. 
We  remember  them  now.  Why  make  us  remember 
them  ?  It  is  so  long  ago — so  long  ago — and  we  can  never 
wear  them  any  more." 

"Nay;  but  you  have  the  same  beauty,"  said  Christine. 
"  That  at  least  remains.  You  have  preserved  your  youth 
and  your  beauty." 

"  Of  what  good  are  our  faces  to  us,"  said  another  wom- 
an, "  with  such  a  dress  as  this  i  Men  no  longer  look  upon 
our  beauty." 

"Let  us  be,"  said  the  woman  who  had  spoken  first. 
"There  can  be  no  change  for  us.  Why  disturb  our 
minds?     The  Present  is  horrible.     But  we  have  ceased 


56  THE  INNER  HOUSE, 

to  care  much  for  anything :  we  do  our  day's  work  every 
day — all  the  same  hours  of  work ;  we  wear  the  same 
dress — to  every  woman  the  same  dress ;  we  eat  and  drink 
the  same  food — to  every  one  the  same ;  we  are  happy  be- 
cause we  have  got  all  we  can  get,  and  we  expect  no 
more;  we  never  talk — why  should  we  talk?  When  you 
laughed  to-day  it  was  like  an  earthquake."  Her  words 
were  strong,  but  her  manner  of  speech  was  a  monotone. 
This  way  of  speaking  grows  upon  us ;  it  is  the  easiest.  I 
watch  the  indications  with  interest.  From  rapid  talk  to 
slow  talk ;  from  animated  talk  to  monotony ;  the  next 
step  will  be  to  silence  absolute.  "  There  is  no  change  for 
us,"  she  repeated, "  neither  in  summer  nor  in  winter.  We 
have  preserved  our  youth,  but  we  have  lost  all  the  things 
which  the  youthful  used  to  desire.  We  thought  to  pre- 
serve our  beauty ;  what  is  the  good  of  beauty  with  such 
a  dress  and  such  a  life?  Why  should  we  make  ourselves 
miserable  in  remembering  any  of  the  things  we  used  to 
desire  ?" 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  clasping  her  hands,  "  to  me  there 
is  no  pleasure  possible  but  in  learning  all  about  the 
Past.  I  read  the  old  books,  I  look  at  the  old  pictures,  I 
play  the  old  music,  I  sing  the  old  songs ;  but  it  is  not 
enough.  I  know  how  you  were  dressed — not  all  alike  in 
gray  beige  frocks,  but  in  lovely  silk  and  beautiful  embroi- 
dered stuffs.  I  will  show  you  presently  how  you  dressed. 
I  know  how  you  danced  and  played  games  and  acted 
most  beautiful  plays,  and  I  have  read  stories  about  you ; 
I  know  that  you  were  always  dissatisfied,  and  wanting 
something  or  other.  The  stories  are  full  of  discontent ; 
nobody  ever  sits  down  satisfied  except  one  pair.  There 
is  always  one  pair,  and  they  fall  in  Love — in  Love,"  she 
repeated.  "What  is  that,  I  wonder?"  Then  she  went 
on   again :    "  They  only  want   one   thing  then,  and  the 


CHRISTINE   AT  HOME.  57 

story-books  are  all  about  how  they  got  it  after  wonderful 
adventures.  There  are  tio  adventures  now.  The  books 
tell  us  all  this,  but  I  want  more.  I  want  to  know 
more :  I  want  to  see  the  old  stories  with  my  own  eyes  ;  I 
want  to  see  you  in  your  old  dresses,  talking  ii>  your  own 
old  way.  The  books  cannot  tell  me  how  you  talked  and 
how  you  looked.  I  am  sure  it  was  not  as  you  talk  now — 
because  you  never  talk." 

"There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  talk.  All  the  old 
desires  have  ceased  to  be.  We  no  longer  want  anything 
or  expect  anything." 

"  Come.  I  shall  do  my  best  to  bring  the  Past  back  to 
you.  First,  I  have  learned  who  you  were.  That  is  why 
I  have  called  you  together.  In  the  old  times  you  all  be- 
longed to  gentlefolk." 

This  announcement  produced  no  effect  at  all.  They 
listened  with  lack-lustre  looks.  They  had  entirely  for- 
gotten that  there  were  ever  such  distinctions  as  gentle 
and  simple. 

"You  will  remember  presently,"  said  Christine,  not 
discouraged.  "  I  have  found  out  in  the  ancient  Rolls 
your  names  and  your  families." 

"  Names  and  families,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "are  gone 
long  ago.  Christine,  what  is  the  good  of  reviving  the 
memory  of  things  that  can  never  be  restored  ?" 

But  the  man  named  Jack  Carera,  the  sailor  of  whom  I 
have  already  spoken,  stepped  forward.  I  have  said  that 
the  sailors  were  a  dangerous  class,  on  account  of  their  in- 
dependence and  their  good  meaning. 

"Tell  us,"  he  said,  "about  our  families.  Why,  I,  for 
one,  have  never  forgotten  that  I  was  once  a  gentleman. 
It  is  hard  to  tell  now,  because  they  have  made  us  all 
alike;  but  for  many,  many  years — I  know  not  how  many 
— we  who  had  been  gentlemen  consorted  together." 


58  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

"You  shall  again,"  said  Christiue,  "if  jou  please.  Lis- 
ten, then.  First,  my  grandfather.  He  was  called  Sir 
Arthur  Farrance,  and  he  was  called  a  Baronet.  To  be  a 
Baronet  was,  in  those  days,  something  greatly  desired  by 
many  people.  A  man,  in  the  old  books,  was  said  to  enjoy 
the  title  of  Baronet.  But  I  know  not  why  one  man  was 
so  raised  above  another." 

"  Heugh  !  Heugh  !  Heugh  !"  coughed  the  old  man.  "  I 
remember  that.  Why,  what  is  there  to  remember  except 
the  old  times  ?  I  was  a  Baronet — the  fifth  Baronet.  My 
country  place  was  in  Sussex,  and  my  town  address  was 
White's  and  the  Travellers'." 

"  Yes,"  Christine  nodded.  "  My  grandfather's  memory 
is  tenacious ;  he  forgets  nothing  of  the  things  that  hap- 
pened when  he  was  young.  I  have  learned  a  great  deal 
from  him.  He  seems  to  have  known  all  your  grandmoth- 
ers, for  instance,  and  speaks  of  them  as  if  he  had  loved 
them  all." 

"I  did — I  did,"  said  the  old  man.  "I  loved  them 
every  one." 

The  girl  turned  to  the  women  before  her — the  dull- 
eyed,  heavy-headed  women,  all  in  the  gray  dresses  exactly 
alike ;  but  their  gray  flat  caps  had  been  thrown  off,  and 
they  looked  disturbed,  moved  out  of  the  common  languor. 

"  Now  I  will  tell  you  who  you  were  formerly.  You  " 
— she  pointed  to  the  nearest — "  were  the  Lady  Mildred 
Carera,  only  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Thordisa.  Y^our 
father  and  mother  survived  the  Discovery,  but  were  killed 
in  the  Great  Massacre  Y^ear,  when  nearly  all  the  old  were 
put  to  death.  You  were  a  great  beauty  in  your  time, 
and  when  the  Discovery  was  announced  you  were  in  your 
second  season.  People  wondered  who  would  win  you. 
But  those  who  pretended  to  know  talked  of  a  young  sci- 
entific Professor." 


CHRISTINE   AT   HOME.  59 

The  woman  beard  as  if  she  was  trying  to  understand  a 
foreign  language.  This  was,  in  fact,  a  language  without 
meaning  to  her.     As  yet  she  caught  nothing. 

"  You,"  said  Christine,  turning  to  the  next,  "  were  Dor- 
othy Oliphant;  you  were  also  young,  beautiful,  and  an 
heiress ;  you,  like  Lady  Mildred,  had  all  the  men  at  your 
feet.  I  don't  know  what  that  means,  but  the  books  say 
so.  Then  the  Discovery  came,  and  love-making,  whatever 
that  was,  seems  to  have  gone  out  of  fashion." 

The  second  woman  heard  this  information  with  lack- 
lustre eyes.     What  did  it  matter? 

"  You  " — Christine  turned  to  a  third  and  to  a  fourth 
and  fifth — "  you  were  Eosie  Lorrayne  ;  you,  Adela  Dupre ; 
you,  Susie  Campbell.  You  were  all  in  Society ;  you  were 
all  young  and  beautiful  and  happy.  Now  for  the  men." 
She  turned  to  them.  The  sailor  named  Jack  gazed  upon 
her  with  eyes  of  admiration.  The  other  men,  startled  at 
first  by  the  apparition  of  the  tresses,  had  relapsed  into 
listlessness.  They  hardly  looked  up  as  she  addressed 
them. 

First  she  pointed  to  the  sailor. 
"  Your  name — " 

"I  remember  my  name," he  said.  "I  have  not  for- 
gotten so  much  as  our  friends.  Sailors  talk  more  with 
each  other,  and  remember.  I  am  named  John  Carera, 
and  I  was  formerly  first-cousin  to  Lady  Mildred.  Cous- 
in"— he  held  out  his  hand — "have  you  forgotten  your 
cousin  ?  We  used  to  play  together  in  the  old  times.  You 
promised  to  marry  me  when  you  should  grow  up." 
Lady  Mildred  gave  him  her  hand. 
"  It  is  so  long  ago— so  long  ago,"  she  murmured  ;  but 
her  eyes  were  troubled.  She  had  begun  to  remember  the 
things  put  away  and  forgotten  for  so  long. 

"  You  " — Christine  turned  to  another — "  were  Geoffrey 


60  THE  INNER  HOUSE. 

Heron.  You  were  Captain  in  a  Cavalry  Regiment.  You 
will  remember  that  presently,  and  a  great  deal  more. 
You" — she  turned  to  another — "were  Laui-ence  de  Heyn, 
and  you  were  a  young  Lawyer,  intending  to  be  a  Judge. 
You  will  remember  that,  in  time.  You  " — she  turned  to 
another — "were  Jack  Culliford  ;  and  you  were  a  Private 
Secretary,  intending  to  go  into  Parliament,  and  to  rise ' 
perhaps  to  be  Prime  Minister.  And  you" — she  turned  to 
the  last — "  were  Arnold  Buckland,  already  a  Poet  of  So- 
ciety. You  will  all  remember  these  things  before  long. 
Lastly,  you  all  belonged  to  the  people  who  were  born 
rich,  and  never  used  to  have  any  care  or  anxiety  about 
their  daily  bread.  I^or  did  you  ever  do  any  work,  unless 
you  chose." 

"  It  is  so  long  ago,"  said  Lady  Mildred — her  face  was 
brighter  now — "  that  we  have  forgotten  even  that  there 
ever  were  gentlefolk." 

"  It  is  not  strange,"  said  Christine, "  that  you  should  have 
forgotten  it.  Why  should  you  remember  anything?  We 
are  only  a  herd,  one  with  another;  one  not  greater,  and 
one  not  less,  than  another.  Now  that  you  know  your 
names  again  and  remember  clearly,  because  I  have  told 
you  " — she  repeated  the  information  for  fear  they  should 
again  forget — "  who  and  what  you  were,  each  of  you — 
you  will  go  on  to  remember  more." 

"  Oh,  what  good  ?     What  good ?"  asked  Lady  Mildred. 

"  Because  it  will  rouse  you  from  your  lethargy,"  said 
the  girl,  impetuously.  "  Oh,  you  sit  in  silence  day  after 
day ;  you  walk  alone ;  you  ought  to  be  together  as  you 
used  to  be,  talking,  playing.  See !  I  have  read  the  books ; 
your  lives  were  full  of  excitement.  It  makes  my  heart 
beat  only  to  read  how  the  men  went  out  to  fight,  daring 
everything,  for  the  sake  of  the  women  they  loved." 

"  The  men  love  us  no  longer,"  said  Lady  Mildred. 


CHRISTINE   AT  HOME.  61 

"  If  the  brave  men  fell — "  But  here  all  faces,  except 
the  sailor's,  turned  pale,  and  they  shuddered.  Christine 
did  not  finish  the  sentence.     She,  too,  shuddered. 

In  the  old  times  I  remember  how,  being  then  errand- 
boy  in  the  Brewery,  I  used  to  listen,  in  the  Whitechapel 
Eoad,  to  the  men  who,  every  Sunday  morning  and  even- 
ing, used  to  tell  us  that  religion  was  a  mockery  and  a 
snare,  invented  by  the  so-called  priests  for  their  own 
selfish  ends,  so  that  they  might  be  kept  in  sloth  and  at 
their  ease.  There  was  no  need  now  for  these  orators. 
The  old  religion  was  clean  dead  and  forgotten.  When 
men  ceased  to  expect  Death,  what  need  was  there  to  keep 
up  any  interest  in  the  future  world,  if  there  should  be 
any?  But  the  bare  mention  of  the  dreadful  thing  is  still 
enough  to  make  all  cheeks  turn  pale.  Every  year,  the 
farther  ofE  Death  recedes,  the  more  terrible  he  looks. 
Therefore  they  all  shuddered. 

Among  the  nmsical  instruments  in  the  Museum  there 
stands  one,  a  square  wooden  box  on  legs,  with  wires  inside 
it.  There  are  many  other  nmsical  instruments,  the  use  of 
all  (as  I  thought)  forgotten.  Yery  soon  after  the  Great 
Discovery  people  ceased  to  care  for  music.  For  my  own 
part,  I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  how  the  touch- 
ing of  chords  and  the  striking  of  hammers  on  wires  can 
produce  any  effect  at  all  upon  the  mind  except  that  of 
irritation.  We  preserve  trumpets  for  the  processions  of 
tlie  College  because  mere  noise  awes  people,  and  because 
trumpets  make  more  noise  with  less  trouble  than  the  hu- 
man voice.  But  with  music,  such  as  it  used  to  be,  we 
have  now  nothing  to  do  at  all.  I  have  been  told  that 
people  were  formerly  greatly  moved  by  music,  so  that 
every  kind  of  emotion  was  produced  in  their  minds  merely 
by  listening  to  a  man  or  woman  playing  some  instrument. 
It  must  have  been  so,  because  Christine,  merely  by  play- 


62  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

ing  the  old  music  to  the  company,  was  able  to  bring 
back  their  minds  to  the  long -forgotten  Past.  But  it 
must  be  remembered  that  she  had  disturbed  their  minds 
first. 

She  sat  down,  then,  before  this  box,  and  she  began  to 
play  upon  it,  watching  the  people  meanwhile.  She  played 
the  music  of  their  own  time — indeed,  there  has  been  none 
written  since.  It  was  a  kind  of  witchery.  First  the  sail- 
or named  Jack  sprang  to  his  feet  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room  with  wild  gestures  and  strange  looks. 
Then  the  rest,  one  by  one,  grew  restless;  they  looked 
about  them;  they  left  their  chairs  and  began  to  look  at 
each  other,  and  at  the  things  in  the  cases.  The  Past  was 
coming  slowly  into  sight.  I  have  heard  how  men  at  sea 
perceive  an  island  far  away,  but  like  a  cloudy  on  the  hori- 
zon ;  how  the  cloud  grows  larger  and  assumes  outline ; 
how  this  grows  clearer  and  larger  still,  until,  before  the 
ship  reaches  the  harbor  and  drops  her  anchor,  the  cliffs 
and  the  woods,  and  even  the  single  trees  on  the  hill-sides, 
are  clearly  visible. 

Thus  the  listeners  gradually  began  to  see  the  Past  again. 
Now,  to  feel  these  old  times  again,  one  must  go  back  to 
them  and  become  once  more  part  of  them.  It  is  possible, 
because  we  are  still  of  the  age  when  we  left  them.  There- 
fore, this  little  company,  who  had  left  the  old  time  when 
they  were  still  young,  began  to  look  again  as  they  had 
then  looked.  Their  eyes  brightened,  their  cheeks  flushed ; 
their  limbs  became  elastic ;  their  heads  were  thrown  back ; 
the  faces  of  the  women  grew  soft,  and  those  of  the  men 
strong ;  on  all  alike  there  fell  once  more  the  look  of  rest- 
less expectancy  and  of  unsatisfied  yearning  which  belong- 
ed to  all  ages  in  the  old  time. 

Presently  they  began  to  murmur,  I  know  not  what,  and 
then  to  whisper  to  each  other  with  gentle  sighs.     Then 


CHRISTINE   AT  HOME.  63 

the  girls— they  were  really  girls  again— caught  each  other 
by  the  hand,  and  panted  and  sighed  again ;  and  at  last 
they  fell  upon  each  other's  necks  and  kissed.  As  for 
the  men,  they  now  stood  erect  and  firm,  but  for  the  most 
part  they  gazed  upon  the  girls  with  wonder  and  admira- 
tion unspeakable,  so  great  was  the  power  of  witchery  pos- 
sessed by  this  insignificant  girl. 

Christine  looked  on  and  laughed  gently.  Then  she  sud- 
denly changed  her  music,  and  began  to  play  a  March  loud 
and  triumphant.     And  as  she  played  she  spoke  : 

"  When  the  brave  soldiers  came  home  from  battle  and 
from  victory,  it  was  right  that  the  people  should  all  go 
forth  to  meet  them.  The  music  played  for  them;  the 
children  strewed  roses  under  their  feet;  the  bells  were 
set  ringing;  the  crowds  cheered  them;  the  women  wept 
and  laughed  at  the  same  time,  and  waved  them  welcome. 
Nothing  could  be  too  good  for  the  men  who  fought  for 
their  country.  Listen !  I  found  the  song  of  the  Victors' 
Eeturn  in  an  old  book.  I  wonder  if  you  remember  it. 
I  think  it  is  a  very  simple  little  thing." 

Then  she  sang.  She  had  a  strong,  clear  voice— they  had 
heard  her  singing  before— no  one  sang  in  the  whole  City 
except  this  child,  and  already  it  had  been  observed  that 
her  singing  made  men  restless.     I  do  not  deny  the  fulness 

and  richness  of  her  voice ;   but  the  words  she  sang Dr. 

Linister's  words,  they  were— are  mere  foolishness: 

"With  flying  flaj?,  with  beat  of  drum. 

Oh,  brave  and  gallant  show ! 
In  rags  and  tatters  home  they  come — 

We  love  them  better  so. 
With  sunburnt  cheeks  and  wounds  and  scan  ; 

Yet  still  their  swords  are  briglit. 
Oh,  welcome,  welcome  from  the  wars. 

Brave  lads  who  fouc^ht  the  fia:ht! 


64  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

"The  girls  they  laugh,  the  girls  they  cry, 

'What  shall  their  guerdon  be? — 
Alas!  that  some  must  fall  and  die! — 

Bring  forth  our  gauds  to  see. 
'Twere  all  too  slight,  give  what  we  might.' 

Up  spoke  a  soldier  tall : 
'Oh,  Love  is  worth  the  whole  broad  earth; 
Oh,  Love  is  worth  the  whole  broad  earth; 

Give  that,  you  give  us  all!'" 


"  Do  you  remember  the  song  ?"  Christine  asked. 

They  shook  their  heads.  Yet  it  seemed  familiar.  They 
remembered  some  such  songs. 

"  Geoffrey  Heron,"  said  the  girl,  turning  to  one  of  the 
men,  "  you  were  Captain  Heron  in  the  old  days.  You 
remember  that  you  were  in  the  army." 

"  Was  I  ?"  He  started.  "  l^o ;  yes.  I  remember.  I 
was  Captain  Heron.  We  rode  out  of  Portsmouth  Dock- 
yard Gates  when  we  came  home — all  that  were  left  of  us. 
The  women  were  waiting  on  the  Hard  outside,  and  they 
laughed  and  cried,  and  caught  our  hands,  and  ran  beside 
the  horses.  Our  ranks  were  thin,  for  we  had  been  pretty 
well  knocked  about.  I  remember  now.  Yes — yes,  I 
was — I  was  Captain  Heron." 

"  Go  into  that  room.  You  will  find  your  old  uniform. 
Take  o£E  the  blue  flannels,  and  show  us  how  you  looked 
when  you  were  in  uniform." 

As  if  it  was  nothing  at  all  unusual,  the  man  rose  and 
obeyed.  It  was  observed  that  he  now  carried  himself 
differently.  He  stood  erect,  with  shoulders  squared,  head 
up,  and  limbs  straight.  They  all  obeyed  whatever  this  girl 
ordered  them  to  do. 

Christine  began  to  play  again.  She  played  another 
March,  but  always  loud  and  triumphant. 

When  the  soldier  came  back  he  was  dressed  in  the  uni- 


CHRISTINE   AT   HOME.  65 

form  which  he  had  worn  in  tlie  time  of  the  Great  Discov- 
ery, when  they  left  off  taking  account  of  time. 

"Oh!"  cried  Christine,  springing  to  her  feet.  "See! 
See !    Here  is  a  soldier  !    Here  is  a  man  who  has  fought !" 

He  stood  before  them  dressed  in  a  scarlet  tunic  and  a 
white  helmet ;  a  red  sash  hung  across  him,  and  on  his 
breast  were  medals.  At  sight  of  him  the  girl  called  Dor- 
othy Oliphant  changed  countenance ;  all  caught  their 
breath.  The  aspect  of  the  man  carried  them,  indeed,  back 
to  the  old,  old  time. 

"  "Welcome  home,  Captain  Heron,"  said  Christine.  "  We 
have  followed  your  campaign  day  by  day." 

"We  are  home  again,"  the  soldier  replied,  gravely. 
"  Unfortunately,  we  have  left  a  good  many  of  our  regi- 
ment behind." 

"Behind?  You  mean — they — are — dead."  Christine 
shuddered.  The  others  shuddered.  Even  Captain  Heron 
himself  for  a  moment  turned  p3,le.  But  he  was  again  in 
the  Past,  and  the  honor  of  his  regiment  was  in  his  hands. 

"  You  have  fought  with  other  men,"  said  Christine. 
"  Let  me  look  in  your  face.  Yes — it  is  changed.  You 
have  the  look  of  the  fighting  man  in  the  old  pictures. 
You  look  as  if  you  mean  to  have  something,  whatever  it 
is,  whether  other  men  want  it  or  not.  Oh,  you  have 
fought  with  men  !  It  is  wonderful !  Perhaps  you  have 
even  killed  men.     Were  you  dreadfully  afraid?" 

Captain  Heron  started  and  flushed. 

"  Afraid  ?"  he  asked.     "  Afraid  ?" 

"  Oh !"  Christine  clapped  her  hands.  "  I  wanted  to 
see  that  look.  It  is  the  look  of  a  man  in  sudden  wrath. 
Forgive  me !  It  is  terrible  to  see  a  man  thus  moved.  No, 
Captain  Heron,,  no !  I  understand.  An  officer  in  your 
regiment  could  be  afraid  of  nothing." 

She  sat  down,  still  looking  at  him. 
5 


6Q  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

"  I  have  seen  a  soldier,"  she  said.  Then  she  sprang  to 
her  feet.  "  Now,"  she  cried,  "  it  is  our  turn.  Come  with 
me,  you  ladies;  and  you,  gentlemen,  go  into  that  room. 
For  one  night  we  will  put  on  the  dresses  you  used  to 
wear.     Come !" 

They  obeyed.  There  was  nothing  that  they  would  not 
have  done,  so  completely  had  she  bewitched  them.  IIow 
long  since  they  had  been  addressed  as  ladies  and  gentle- 
men ! 

"  Come,"  she  said,  in  the  room  whither  she  led  the 
women,  "look  about,  and  choose  what  you  please.  But 
we  must  make  haste." 

There  was  a  great  pile  of  dainty  dresses  laid  out  for 
them  to  choose — dresses  in  silk  and  all  kinds  of  delicate 
stuffs,  with  embroidery,  lace,  ribbons,  jewels,  chains,  rings, 
bracelets,  gloves,  fans,  shoes — everything  that  the  folly  of 
the  past  time  required  to  make  rich  women  seem  as  if 
they  were  not  the  same  as  their  poorer  sisters. 

They  turned  over  the  dresses,  and  cried  out  with  ad- 
miration. Then  they  hastened  to  tear  off  their  ugly  gray 
frocks,  and  began  to  dress. 

But  the  girl  called  Dorothy  Oliphant  sank  into  a  chair. 
"  Oh,  he  has  forgotten  me!  he  has  forgotten  me!  Who 
am  I  that  he  should  remember  me  after  all  these  years  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  Christine,  "  how  should  he  remember  ? 
What  matters  that  you  have  the  same  face  ?  Think  of 
your  dull  look  and  your  heavy  eyes ;  think  of  the  dowdy 
dress  and  the  ugly  cap.  Wait  till  you  have  put  on  a 
pretty  frock  and  have  dressed  your  hair ;  here  is  a  chain 
of  pearls  which  will  look  pretty  in  your  hair ;  here  is  a 
sweet  colored  silk.  I  am  sur6  it  will  fit  you.  Oh,  it  is 
a  shame — it  is  a  shame  that  we  have  to  dress  so !  Never 
mind.  Now  I  have  found  out  the  old  dresses,  we  will 
have  many  evenings  together.     We  will  go  back  to  the 


CHRISTINE   AT  HOME.  67 

Past.  He  will  remember  you,  Dorothy  dear.  Oh,  how 
could  you  give  them  up  ?  How  could  you  give  up  your 
lovely  dresses  ?" 

"  We  were  made  to  give  them  up  because  there  were 
not  enough  beautiful  dresses  to  go  round.  They  said 
that  no  woman  must  be  dressed  better  than  another.  So 
they  invented — it  was  Dr.  Grout,  the  Suffragan,  who  did 
it — the  gray  dress  for  the  women  and  the  blue  flannel  for 
the  men.  And  I  had  almost  forgotten  that  there  were 
such  things.  Christine,  my  head  is  swimming.  My  heart 
is  beating.  I  have  not  felt  my  heart  beating  for  I  know 
not  how  long.  Oh,  will  Geoffrey  remember  me  when  I 
am  dressed  ?" 

"  Quick !  Of  course  he  will.  Let  me  dress  yon.  Oh, 
I  often  come  here  in  the  daytime  and  dress  up,  and  pre- 
tend that  it  is  the  Past  again.  You  shall  come  with  me. 
But  I  want  to  hear  you  talk  as  you  used  to  talk,  and  to 
see  you  dance  as  you  used  to  dance.  Then  I  shall  under- 
stand it  all." 

When  they  returned,  the  men  were  waiting  for  them. 
Their  blue  flannels  were  exchanged  for  black  cloth  clothes, 
which  it  had  been  the  custom  of  those  who  called  them- 
selves gentlemen  to  wear  in  the  evening.  In  ancient 
times  this  was  their  absurd  custom,  kept  up  in  order  to 
mark  the  difference  between  a  gentleman  and  one  of  the 
lower  class.  If  you  had  no  dress -coat,  you  were  not  a 
gentleman.  How  could  men  ever  tolerate,  for  a  single 
day,  the  existence  of  such  a  social  difference?  As  for  me, 
in  the  part  of  London  where  I  lived,  called  Whitechapel, 
there  were  no  dress-coats.  The  change,  however,  seemed 
to  have  transformed  them.  Their  faces  had  an  eager  look, 
as  if  they  wanted  something.  Of  course,  in  the  old  times 
everybody  always  wanted  something.  You  can  see  it  in 
the  pictures — the  faces  are  never  at  rest;  in  the  portraits, 


68  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

the  eyes  are  always  seeking  for  something;  nowhere  is 
there  visible  the  least  sign  of  contentment.  These  unfort- 
unate men  had  acquired,  with  their  old  clothes,  some- 
thing of  the  old  restlessness. 

Christine  laughed  aloud  and  clapped  her  hands. 

The  women  did  not  laugh.  They  saluted  the  men,  who 
bowed  with  a  certain  coldness.  The  manners  of  the  Past 
were  coming  back  to  them  swiftly,  but  the  old  ease  was 
not  recovered  for  the  first  quarter  of  an  hour.  Then 
Captain  Heron,  who  had  changed  his  uniform  for  civilian 
dress,  suddenly  flushed  and  stepped  forward,  whispering, 

"  Dorothy,  you  have  forgotten  me  ?" 

Dorothy  smiled  softly,  and  gave  him  her  hand  with  a 
quick  sigh.     No,  she  had  not  forgotten  him. 

"  Dance !"  said  Christine.  "  I  want  to  see  you  dance. 
I  will  play  for  you." 

She  played  a  piece  of  music  called  a  Waltz.  When 
this  kind  of  music  used  to  be  played — I  mean  in  the 
houses  of  (so-called)  ladies,  not  those  of  the  People — the 
young  men  and  women  caught  each  other  round  the  waist 
and  twirled  round.  They  had  many  foolish  customs,  but 
none  more  foolish,  I  should  suppose,  than  this.  I  have 
never  seen  the  thing  done,  because  all  this  foolishness  was 
forgotten  as  soon  as  we  settled  down  to  the  enjoyment  of 
the  Great  Discovery.  When,  therefore,  Christine  began 
this  music,  they  looked  at  each  other  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then,  inspired  by  memory,  they  fell  into  each  other's 
arms  and  began  their  dance. 

She  played  for  them  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  While 
the  rest  danced,  the  young  man  Jack  stood  beside  the 
piano,  as  if  he  was  chained  to  the  spot.  She  had  be- 
witched them  all,  but  none  so  much  as  this  man.  He 
therefore  gazed  upon  the  girl  with  an  admiration  which 
certainly  belonged  to  the  old  time.     Indeed,  I  have  never 


CHRISTINE   AT  HOME.  69 

been  able  to  understand  how  the  Past  could  be  so  sudden- 
ly assumed.  To  admire — actually  to  admire — a  woman, 
knowing  all  the  time — it  is  impossible  to  conceal  the  fact 
— that  she  is  your  inferior,  that  she  is  inferior  in  strength 
and  intellect !  Well,  I  have  already  called  them  unfortu- 
nate men ;  I  can  say  no  more.  How  can  people  admire 
things  below  themselves?  When  she  had  played  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,  this  young  man  called  upon  her 
to  stop.  The  dancers  stopped  too,  panting,  their  eyes  full 
of  light,  their  cheeks  flushed  and  their  lips  parted. 

"  Oh,"  Dorothy  sighed,  "  I  never  thought  to  feel  such 
happiness  again.    I  could  dance  on  forever." 

"  With  me  ?"  murmured  Geoffrey.  "  I  was  praying 
that  the  last  round  might  never  stop.     With  me  ?" 

"  With  you,"  she  whispered. 

"Come!"  cried  the  young  man  Jack.  "It  is  too  bad. 
Christine  must  dance.  Play  for  us,  Cousin  Mildred,  and 
I  will  give  her  a  lesson." 

Mildred  laughed.  Then  she  started  at  the  unwonted 
sound.  The  others  laughed  to  hear  it,  and  the  walls  of 
the  Museum  echoed  with  the  laughter  of  girls.  The  old 
man  sat  up  in  his  chair  and  looked  around. 

"  I  thought  I  was  at  Philippe's,  in  Paris,"  he  said.  "  I 
thought  we  were  haxring  a  supper  after  the  theatre. 
There  was  Ninette,  and  tliere  was  Madeleine  —  and  — 
and—" 

He  looked  about  him  bewildered.  Then  he  dropped 
his  head  and  went  to  sleep  again.  When  he  was  neither 
eating  nor  battling  for  his  breath,  he  was  always  sleep- 
ing. 

"I  am  your  cousin.  Jack,"  said  Mildred;  "but  I  liad 
long  forgotten  it.  And  as  for  playing — but  I  will  try. 
Perhaps  the  old  touch  will  return." 

It  did.     She  played  with  far  greater  skill  and  power 


70  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

than  the  self-taught  Christine,  but  not  (as  they  have  said 
since)  with  greater  sweetness. 

Then  Jack  took  Christine  and  gave  her  a  first  lesson. 
It  lasted  nearly  half  an  hour. 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  when  Lady  Mildred  stopped,  "  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  been  floating  round  in  a  dream.  Was  I  a 
stupid  pupil.  Jack  ?" 

"  You  were  the  aptest  pupil  that  dancing-master  ever 
had." 

"  I  know  now,"  she  said,  with  panting  breath  and 
flushed  cheeks,  "  what  dancing  means.  It  is  wonderful 
that  the  feet  should  answer  to  the  music.  Surely  you 
must  have  loved  dancing?" 

"  We  did,"  the  girls  replied ;  "  we  did.  There  was  no 
greater  pleasure  in  the  world." 

"  Why  did  you  give  it  up  ?" 

They  looked  at  each  other. 

"After  the  Great  Discovery,"  said  Dorothy  Oliphant, 
"we  were  so  happy  to  get  rid  of  the  terrors  of  old  age, 
and  the  loss  of  our  beauty,  and  everything,  that  at  first  we 
thought  of  nothing  else.  When  we  tried  to  dance  again, 
something  had  gone  out  of  it.  The  men  were  not  the  same. 
Perhaps  we  were  not  the  same.  Everything  languished 
after  that.  There  was  no  longer  any  enjoyment.  We 
ceased  to  dance  because  we  found  no  pleasure  in  dancing." 

"  But  now  you  do  ?"  said  Christine. 

"  To-night  we  do,  because  you  have  filled  our  hearts 
with  the  old  thoughts.  To  get  out  of  the  dull,  dull  round 
— why  is  it  that  we  never  felt  it  dull  till  to-night  ?  Oh, 
so  long  as  we  can  remember  the  old  thoughts,  let  us  con- 
tinue to  dance  and  to  play  and  to  sing.  If  the  old  thoughts 
cease  to  come  back  to  us  " — she  looked  at  Geoffrey — "  let 
us  fall  back  into  our  dulness,  like  the  men  and  women 
round  us." 


CHRISTINE   AT  HOME.  71 

"It  was  to  please  me  first," said  Ch-ristine.  "You  were 
so  very  kind  as  to  come  here  to  please  me,  because  I  can 
have  no  recollection  at  all  of  the  Past,  and  I  was  curious 
to  understand  what  I  read.  Come  again — to  please  your- 
selves. Oh,  I  have  learned  so  much — so  very  much  more 
than  I  ever  expected !  There  are  so  many,  many  things 
that  I  did!  not  dream  of.  But  let  ns  always  dance,"  she 
said — "  let  us  always  dance — let  me  always  feel  every  time 
you  come  as  if  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  but  sweet 
music  calling  me,  and  I  was  spinning  round  and  round, 
but  always  in  some  place  far  better  and  sweeter  than 
this." 

"  Yes,"  Lady  Mildred  said,  gravely.  "  Thus  it  was  we 
used  to  feel." 

"And  I  have  seen  you  as  you  were — gentlemen  and 
gentlewomen  together.  Oh,  it  is  beautiful !  Come  every 
night.  Let  us  never  cease  to  change  the  dismal  Present 
for  the  sunny  Past.  But  there  is  one  thing — one  thing 
that  I  cannot  understand." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Lady  Mildred. 

"  In  the  old  books  there  is  always,  as  I  said  before,  a 
young  man  in  love  with  a  girl.  "What  is  it — Love?"  The 
girls  sighed  and  cast  down  their  eyes.  "  Was  it  possible 
for  a  man  so  to  love  a  girl  as  to  desire  nothing  in  the  world 
but  to  have  her  love,  and  even  to  throw  away  his  life — 
actually  his  very  life — his  very  life — for  her  sake?" 

"  Dorothy,"  said  Geoffrey,  taking  both  her  hands, "  was 
it  possible  ?     Oh,  was  it  possible  ?" 

Dorothy  burst  into  tears. 

"  It  was  possible !"  she  cried ;  "  but  oh,  it  is  not  possi- 
ble any  longer." 

"  Let  us  pretend,"  said  Geoffrey,  "  let  us  dream  that  it 
is  possible." 

"  Even  to  throw  away  your  life— to  die — actually  your 

4r 


72  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

life?"  asked  Christine.  "To  die?  To  exist  no  longer? 
To  abandon  life — for  the  sake  of  another  person  ?" 

A  sudden  change  passed  over  all  their  faces.  The  light 
died  out  of  their  ejes ;  the  smile  died  on  their  lips ;  the 
softness  vanished  from  the  ladies'  faces;  the  men  hung 
their  heads.  All  their  gallantry  left  them.  And  Geof- 
frey let  Mildred's  hands  slip  from  his  holding.  The 
thought  of  Death  brought  them  all  back  to  the  Pres- 
ent. 

"No,"  said  Lady  Mildred,  sadly,  and  with  changed 
voice,  "such  things  are  no  longer  possible.  Formerly, 
men  despised  death  because  it  was  certain  to  come,  in  a 
few  years  at  best ;  and  why  not,  therefore,  to-morrow  ? 
But  we  cannot  brave  death  any  more.  We  live,  each  for 
himself.  That  is  the  only  safety ;  there  is  only  the  law 
of  self-preservation.  All  are  alike ;  we  cannot  love  each 
other  any  more,  because  we  are  all  alike.  'No  woman  is 
better  than  another  in  any  man's  eyes,  because  we  are  all 
dressed  the  same,  and  we  are  all  the  same.  What  more 
do  we  want  ?"  she  said,  harshly.  "  There  is  no  change  for 
us ;  we  go  from  bed  to  work,  from  work  to  rest  and  food, 
and  so  to  bed  again.  What  more  can  we  want?  We  are 
all  equals ;  we  are  all  the  same ;  there  are  no  more  gentle- 
women. Let  us  put  on  our  gray  frocks  and  our  flat  caps 
again,  and  hide  our  hair  and  go  home  to  bed." 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  Christine,  "but  you  will  come  again. 
You  will  come  again,  and  we  will  make  every  night  a 
Play  and  Pretence  of  the  beautiful  —  the  lovely  Past. 
When  we  lay  aside  the  gray  frocks,  and  let  down  our  hair, 
we  shall  go  back  to  the  old  time — the  dear  old  time." 

The  young  man  named  Jack  remained  behind  when  the 
others  were  gone.  "  If  it  were  possible,"  he  said,  "  for  a 
man  to  give  up  everything — even  his  life — for  a  woman, 
in  the  old  times,  when  life  was  a  rich  and  glorious  posses- 


WHAT   IS   LOVE?  73 

sion — how  much  more  ought  he  not  to  be  willing  to  lay 
it  down,  now  that  it  has  been  made  a  worthless  weed  ?" 

"I  have  never  felt  so  happy" — the  girl  was  thinking 
of  something  else.  "  I  have  never  dreamed  that  I  could 
feel  so  happy.  Now  I  know  what  I  have  always  longed 
for — to  dance  round  and  round  forever,  forgetting  all  but 
the  joy  of  the  music  and  the  dance.  But  oh,  Jack  " — her 
face  turned  pale  again — "  how  could  they  ever  have  been 
happy,  even  while  they  waltzed,  knowing  that  every  min- 
ute brought  them  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  dreadful 
end?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Christine,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  never 
mention  that  ugly  topic  again,  except  when  we  are  not 
dressed  up  and  acting.  How  lovely  they  looked — all  of 
them — but  none  of  them  to  compare  with  the  sweetest 
rose-bud  of  the  garden  ?" 

He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  then  left  her  alone 
with  the  old  man  in  the  great  Museum. 


CHAPTER    IV. 
WHAT  IS  LOVE? 


It  would  be  idle  to  dwell  upon  the  repetition  of  such 
scenes  as  those  described  in  the  last  chapter.  These  un- 
happy persons  continued  to  meet  day  after  day  in  the 
Museum ;  after  changing  their  lawful  garments  for  the 
fantastic  habits  worn  before  the  Great  Discovery,  they  lost 
themselves  nightly  in  the  imagination  of  the  Past.  They 
presently  found  others  among  the  People,  who  had  also 
been  gentlewomen  and  gentlemen  in  the  old  days,  and 
brought  them  also  into  the  company;  so  that  there  were 
now,  every  evening,  some  thirty  gathered  together.     Nay, 


74  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

they  even  procured  food  and  made  suppers  for  themselves, 
contrary  to  the  practice  of  common  meals  enjoined  by  the 
Holy  College;  they  gloried  in  being  a  company  apart 
from  the  rest;  and  because  they  remembered  the  Past, 
they  had  the  audacity  to  give  themselves,  but  only  among 
themselves,  airs  of  superiority.  In  the  daytime  they  wore 
the  common  dress,  and  were  like  the  rest  of  the  People. 
The  thing  grew,  however.  Every  evening  they  recalled 
more  of  the  long-vanished  customs  and  modes  of  thought 
— one  remembering  this  and  the  other  that  little  detail — 
until  almost  every  particular  of  the  ancient  life  had  re- 
turned to  them.  Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  For 
though  the  Present  offered  still — and  this  they  never  de- 
nied— its  calm,  unchanging  face,  with  no  disasters  to  trou- 
ble and  no  certain  and  miserable  end  to  dread ;  with  no 
anxieties,  cares,  and  miseries ;  witli  no  ambitions  and  no 
struggles ;  they  fell  to  yearning  after  the  old  things ;  they 
grew  to  loathe  the  Present ;  they  could  hardly  sit  with 
patience  in  the  Public  Hall;  they  went  to  their  day's 
work  with  ill-concealed  disgust.  Yet,  so  apathetic  had  the 
people  grown  that  nothing  of  this  was  observed ;  so  care- 
less and  so  unsuspicious  were  we  ourselves  that  though 
the  singing  and  playing  grew  louder  and  continued  longer 
every  evening,  none  of  us  suspected  anything.  Singing, 
in  my  ears,  was  no  more  than  an  unmeaning  noise ;  that 
the  girl  in  the  Museum  should  sing  and  play  seemed  fool- 
ish, but  then  children  are  foolish — they  like  to  make  a 
great  noise. 

One  afternoon — it  was  some  weeks  since  this  dangerous 
fooling  began — the  cause  of  the  whole,  the  girl  Christine, 
was  in  the  Museum  alone.  She  had  a  book  in  her  hand,' 
and  was  reading  in  it.  First  she  read  a  few  lines,  and 
then  paused  and  meditated  a  while.  Then  she  read  again, 
and  laughed  gently  to  herself.     And  then  she  read,  and 


WHAT   IS  LOVE?  75 

changed  color.      And  again   she  read,  and  knitted   her 
brows  as  one  who  considers  but  cannot  understand. 

The  place  was  quite  deserted,  save  for  her  grandfather, 
who  sat  in  his  great  chair,  propped  up  with  pillows  and 
fast  asleep.  lie  had  passed  a  bad  night  with  his  miserable 
asthma ;  in  the  morning,  as  often  liappens  with  this  dis- 
ease, he  found  himself  able  to  breathe  again,  and  was  now 
therefore  taking  a  good  spell  of  sleep.  His  long  white 
hair  fell  down  upon  his  shoulders,  his  wrinkled,  old  cheek 
showed  a  thousand  crows'  feet  and  lines  innumerable;  he 
looked  a  very,  very  old  man.  Yet  he  was  no  more  than 
seventy-iive  or  so,  in  the  language  of  the  Past.  He  be- 
longed formerly  to  those  who  lived  upon  the  labor  of 
others,  and  devoured  their  substance.  ISTow,  but  for  his 
asthma,  which  even  the  College  cannot  cure,  he  should 
have  been  as  perfectly  happy  as  the  rest  of  the  People. 
The  sunshine  which  warmed  his  old  limbs  fell  full  upon 
his  chair ;  so  that  he  seemed,  of  all  the  rare  and  curious 
objects  in  that  collection,  the  rarest  and  most  curious. 
The  old  armor  on  the  wall,  the  trophies  of  arms,  the 
glass  vases  containing  all  the  things  of  the  past,  were  not 
so  rare  and  curious  as  this  old  man — the  only  old  man 
left  among  us.  I  daily,  for  my  own  part,  contemplated 
the  old  man  with  a  singular  satisfaction.  He  was,  I 
thought,  a  standing  lesson  to  the  People,  one  daily  set  be- 
fore their  eyes.  Here  was  the  sole  surviving  specimen  of 
what  in  the  Past  was  the  best  that  the  men  and  women 
could  expect — namely,  to  be  spared  until  the  age  of  sev- 
enty-five, and  then  to  linger  on  afflicted  with  miserable 
diseases  and,  slowly  or  swiftly,  to  be  tortured  to  death. 
Beholding  that  spectacle,  I  argued,  all  the  people  ought  to 
rub  their  hands  in  complacency  and  gratitude.  But  our 
people  had  long  ceased  to  reason  or  reflect.  The  lesson 
was  consequently  thrown  away  upon  them.     Nay,  when 


76  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

this  girl  began  lier  destructive  career,  those  whom  she 
dragged  into  her  toils  only  considered  this  old  man  be- 
cause he  would  still  be  talking,  as  all  old  men  used  to 
talk,  about  the  days  of  his  youth,  for  the  purpose  of  in- 
creasing their  knowledge  of  the  Past,  and  filling  their 
foolish  souls  with  yearning  after  the  bad  old  times. 

While  Christine  read  and  pondered,  the  door  of  the 
Museum  opened.  The  young  man  called  Jack  stood 
there  gazing  upon  her.  She  had  thrown  off  her  cap,  and 
her  long  brown  curls  lay  over  her  shoulders.  She  had  a 
red  rose  in  the  bosom  of  her  gray  dress,  and  she  had  tied 
a  crimson  scarf  round  her  waist.  Jack  (suffer  me  to  use 
the  foolishness  of  their  language — of  course  his  name  was 
John) — closed  the  door  silently. 

"  Christine,"  he  whispered. 

She  started,  and  let  her  book  fall.  Then  she  gave  him 
lier  hand,  which  he  raised  to  his  lips.  (Again  I  must  ask 
leave  to  report  a  great  deal  of  foolishness.) 

"  It  is  the  sweet  old  fashion,"  he  said.  "  It  is  my  hom- 
age to  my  lady." 

They  were  now  so  far  gone  in  folly  that  she  accepted 
this  act  as  if  it  was  one  natural  and  becoming. 

"  I  have  been  reading,"  she  said,  "  a  book  full  of  ex- 
tracts— all  about  love.  I  have  never  understood  what 
love  is.  If  I  ask  Dorothy,  she  looks  at  Geoffrey  Heron 
and  sighs.  If  I  ask  him,  he  tells  me  that  he  cannot  be 
my  servant  to  teach  me,  because  he  is  already  sworn  to 
another.  What  does  this  mean?  Have  the  old  times 
come  back  again,  so  that  men  once  more  call  themselves 
slaves  of  love  ?     Yet  what  does  it  mean  ?" 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Jack,  "  what  you  have  been  reading." 

"  Listen,  then.  Oh,  it  is  the  strangest  extravagance ! 
What  did  men  mean  when  they  could  gravely  write 
down,  and  expect  to  be  read,  such  things  as — 


WHAT   IS   LOVE?  77 

"  'T  cio  love  you  more  than  words  can  wield  the  matter — 
Dearer  than  eyesight,  space,  and  liberty; 
Beyond  what  can  be  valued,  rich  or  rare?' 

'Dearer  than  eyesight,  space,  and  liberty.'  Did  they 
really  mean  that  ?" 

"They  meant  more;  they  meant  dearer  than  life  it- 
self!" said  Jack,  slowly.  "Only  it  was  stupid  always  to 
say  the  same  thing." 

"  Well,  then,  listen  to  this : 

'"Had  I  no  eyes  but  ears, my  ears  would  love 
That  inward  beauty  and  invisible; 
Or,  were  I  deaf,  thy  outward  parts  would  move 

Each  part  in  me  that  were  but  sensible. 
Though  neither  eyes  nor  ears,  to  hear  nor  sec, 
Yet  should  I  be  in  love,  by  touching  thee.' 

Now,  Jack,  what  can  that  mean  ?  Was  anything  more 
absurd  ?" 

"  Read  another  extract,  Christine." 

"  Here  is  a  passage  more  difficult  than  any  other : 

'"Love  looks  not  with  the  eyes,  but  with  the  mind; 
And  therefore  is  wing'd  Cupid  painted  blind. 
Nor  hath  Love's  mind  of  any  judgment  taste; 
Wings  and  no  eyes,  figure  unhecdy  haste. 
And  therefore  is  Love  said  to  be  a  child, 
Because  in  choice  he  is  so  oft  beguiled.' 

Tell  me,  if  you  can,  what  this  means.  But  perhaps  you 
were  never  in  love.  Jack,  in  the  old  times." 

"  Romeo  was  in  love  before  he  met  Juliet,"  said  Jack. 
"  I,  too,  have  been  reading  the  old  books,  you  see.  Child. 
I  remember — but  how  can  I  tell  you?  I  cannot  speak 
like  the  poet.  Yet  I  remember — I  remember,"  He 
looked  round  the  room.  "It  is  only  here,"  he  murmured, 
"  that  one  can   clearly  remember.      Here   are  the   very 


78  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

things  which  used  to  surround  our  daily  life.  And  here 
are  youth  and  age.  They  were  always  with  us  in  the  old 
time — youth  and  age.  Youth  with  love  before,  and  age 
with  love  behind.  Always  we  knew  that  as  that  old 
man,  so  should  we  become.  The  chief  joys  of  life  be- 
longed to  youth ;  we  knew  very  well  that  unless  we 
snatched  them  then  we  should  never  have  them.  To  age 
we  gave  respect,  because  age,  we  thought,  had  wisdom ; 
but  to  us — to  us — who  were  young,  age  cried  unceas- 
ingly— 

"  'Gather  ye  rose-buds  while  ye  may.' 

If  I  could  tell  only  you !  Christine,  come  with  me  into 
the  Picture  Gallery.  My  words  are  weak,  but  the  poets 
and  the  painters  speak  for  us.  Come !  We  shall  find 
something  there  that  will  speak  for  me  what  I  have  not 
words  to  say  for  myself." 

Nothing:  in  the  whole  world — I  have  maintained  this 
in  the  College  over  and  over  again — has  done  so  much 
harm  to  Humanity  as  Art.  In  a  world  of  common-sense 
which  deals  with  nothing  but  fact  and  actuality.  Art  can 
have  no  place.  Why  imitate  what  we  see  around  us? 
Artists  cheated  the  world ;  they  pretended  to  imitate,  and 
they  distorted  or  they  exaggerated.  They  put  a  light 
into  the  sky  that  never  was  there ;  they  filled  the  human 
face  with  yearning  after  things  impossible;  they  put 
thoughts  into  the  heart  which  had  no  business  there ; 
they  made  woman  into  a  goddess,  and  made  love — simple 
love — a  form  of  worship;  they  exaggerated  every  joy; 
they  created  a  heaven  which  could  not  exist.  I  have  seen 
their  pictures,  and  I  know  it.  Why — why  did  we  not 
destroy  all  works  of  Art  long  ago — or,  at  least,  why  did 
we  not  enclose  the  Gallery,  with  the  Museum,  within  the 
College  wall  ? 

The  Picture  Gallery  is  a  long  room  with  ancient  stone 


WHAT    IS   LOVE?  79 

walls ;  statuary  is  arranged  along  the  central  line,  and  the 
pictures  line  the  walls. 

The  young  man  led  the  girl  into  the  Gallery  and 
looked  around  him.  Presently  he  stopped  at  a  figure  in 
white  marble.  It  represented  a  woman,  hands  clasped, 
gazing  upward.  Anatomically,  I  must  say,  the  figure  is 
fairly  correct. 

"  See,"  he  said-, "  when  in  the  olden  times  our  sculptors 
desired  to  depict  the  Higher  Life — which  we  have  lost  or 
thrown  away  for  a  while — they  carved  the  marble  image 
of  a  woman.  Her  form  represented  perfect  beauty ;  her 
face  represented  perfect  purity ;  the  perfect  soul  must  be 
wedded  to  the  perfect  body,  otherwise  there  can  be  no 
perfection  of  Humanit}'.  This  is  the  Ideal  Woman. 
Look  in  her  face,  look  at  the  curves  of  her  form,  look  at 
the  carriage  of  her  head;  such  a  woman  it  was  whom 
men  used  to  love." 

" But  were  women  once  like  this?  Could  they  look  so? 
Had  they  such  sweet  and  tender  faces?  This  figure 
makes  me  ashamed." 

"  When  men  were  in  love,  Christine,  the  woman  that 
each  man  loved  became  in  his  mind  such  as  this.  He 
worshipped  in  his  mistress  the  highest  form  of  life  that 
he  could  conceive.  Some  men  were  gross,  their  ideals 
were  low ;  some  were  noble,  then  their  ideals  were  high. 
Always  there  were  among  mankind  some  men  who  were 
continually  trying  to  raise  the  ideal ;  always  the  mass  of 
men  were  keeping  the  ideal  low." 

"Were  the  women  ashamed  to  receive  such  worship? 
Because  they  must  have  known  what  they  were  in  cold 
reality." 

"  Perhaps  to  the  nobler  sort,"  said  the  young  man,  "to 
be  thought  so  good  lifted  up  their  hearts  and  kept  them 
at  that  high  level.     But  indeed  I  know  not.     Remember 


80  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

that  when  men  wrote  the  words  that  you  think  extrava- 
gant, they  were  filled  and  wholly  possessed  with  the 
image  of  the  Perfect  Woman.  Nay,  the  nobler  and 
stronger  their  nature,  the  more  they  were  filled  with  that 
Vision.  The  deeper  their  love  for  any  woman,  the  higher 
they  placed  her  on  the  Altar  of  their  worship." 

"And  if  another  man  should  try  to  take  that  woman 
from  them — " 

"  They  would  kill  that  other  man,"  said  Jack,  with  a 
fierce  gleam  in  his  eye,  which  made  the  girl  shudder. 
Yet  she  respected  him  for  it. 

"If  another  man  should  come  between  us  now,  Chris- 
tine,! would —  ]^ay,  dear,  forgive  my  rude  words.  What 
has  jealousy  to  do  with  you  ?" 

She  dropped  her  eyes  and  blushed,  and  in  all  her  limbs 
she  trembled.  This  young  man  made  her  afraid.  And 
yet — she  knew  not  why — it  made  her  happy,  only  to  be 
afraid  of  him. 

"Let  us  see  some  of  the  pictures,"  said  Jack. 

There  were  many  hundreds  of  them.  They  represented 
I  know  not  what ;  scenes  of  the  old  life  in  the  old  time. 
I  dare  say  everything  was  there,  with  all  the  exaggerations 
which  pleased  the  painters  and  cheated  the  senses  of  those 
who  looked  on.  Fair  women  were  painted  fairer  than 
women  could  ever  be ;  their  eyes  were  larger,  softer,  fuller 
of  thought ;  their  cheeks  more  tender,  their  limbs  more 
comely. 

There  were  battle  scenes;  the  young  man  led  the  girl 
past  them.  There  were  scenes  from  history — kings  lay- 
ing down  crowns,  traitors  receiving  sentence,  and  so 
forth ;  he  passed  them  by.  There  were  groups  of  nymphs, 
portraits  of  fair  women,  groups  of  girls  dancing,  girls  at 
play,  girls  laughing,  girls  bathing;  he  passed  them  by. 
Presently  he  stopped  before  three  panels  side  by  side, 


WHAT  IS   LOVE?  81 

representing  a  simple  allegory  of  the  old  time.     In  the 
first  picture,  two,  a  young  man  and  a  girl,  walked  hand- 
in-hand  beside  a  stream.     The  water  danced  and  rippled 
in  the  sunlight ;  behind  them  was  an  orchard  full  of  blos- 
som;  ^flowers  sprang  up  at  their  feet  — the  flowers  of 
spring.     And  they  walked  hand-in-hand,  gazing  in  each 
other's  eyes.     The  second  picture  showed  a  man  in  mid- 
dle-age returning  home  from  work;  beside  him  walked 
his  boys ;  in  the  porch  the  mother  sat  with  her  daughters 
spinning  at  the  wheel.     The  stream  was  now  a  full  majes- 
tic river ;  the  trees  were  loaded  with  fruit  not  yet  ripe ; 
the  fields  were  covered  with  corn,  green  still,  but  waving 
with  h'ght  and  shade  under  the  summer  sky ;  in  the  dis- 
tance, passing  away,  was  a  heavy  thunder-cloud.     In  the 
third  panel  an  old  pair  stood  beside  a  great  river,  looking 
out  upon  the  ocean.   Again  they  were  hand-in-hand.    The 
sun  was  setting  in  great  splendor  across  the  sea ;  the  reap- 
ers were  carrying  their  harvest  home  with   songs   and 
dances.     And  the  old  people  still  gazed  in  each  other's 
face,  just  as  they  had  done  fifty  years  ago. 

''  See,  Christine !"  said  Jack.     "  In  the  first  panel,  this 
pair  think  of  nothing  but  of  each  other.     Presently  they 
will  have  other  thoughts.     The  stream  beside  which  they 
wander  is   the   Stream   of  Life.     It  widens  as  it  goes. 
While  they  walk  along  its  banks,  the  river  grows  broader 
and  deeper.     This  means  that  as  they  grow  older  they 
grow  wiser  and  learn  more.     So  they  go  on  continually, 
until  they  come  to  the  mouth  of  the  river,  where  it  loses 
itself  in  the  ocean  of— what  our  friends  tremble  so  much 
as  to  name.     Tell  me,  is  there  terror,  or  doubt,  or  anxiety 
on  their  faces  now  that  they  have  come  to  the  end  ?" 
"No ;  their  faces  are  entirely  happy." 
"  This  you  do  not  understand.     Christine,  if  you  were 
6ure  that  in  the  end  you  would  be  as  happy  as  that  old 
6 


82  THE  INNER  HOUSE. 

woman  at  the  end,  would  you  be  content  to  begin  with 
the  beginning?  Would  you  play  the  part  of  that  girl, 
and  walk — with  me — along  the  Stream  of  Life?" 

He  took  her  hand,  but  she  made  no  reply,  save  that  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.     Presently  she  murmured, 

"  They  are  always  happy — at  the  beginning  and  at  the 
end.  Did  they  know  at  the  beginning  that  there  would 
be  an  end  ?" 

"They  knew;  everybody  knew;  the  very  children 
knew  almost  from  infancy  the  great  Law  of  Nature,  that 
for  everything  there  is  the  allotted  end.     They  knew  it." 

"And  yet  they  were  always  happy.  I  cannot  under- 
stand it." 

''  We  have  destroyed  that  happiness,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  Love  cannot  exist  when  there  is  no  longer  end, 
or  change,  or  anything  to  hope  or  fear  —  no  mystery, 
nothing  to  hope  or  fear.  What  is  a  woman  outside  the 
Museum  in  the  eyes  of  the  College?  She  is  only  the 
half  of  humanity,  subject  to  disease  and  requiring  food 
at  intervals.  She  no  longer  attracts  men  by  the  sacred 
mystery  of  her  beauty.  She  is  not  even  permitted  any 
longer  to  make  herself  beautiful  by  her  dress;  nor  is 
she  allowed  to  create  the  feeling  of  mystery  and  the  un- 
known by  seclusion.  She  lives  in  the  open,  like  the  rest. 
We  all  live  together ;  we  know  what  each  one  says  and 
thinks  and  does ;  nay,  most  of  us  have  left  ofiE  thinking 
and  talking  altogether." 

But  Christine  was  hardly  listening;  she  could  not  un- 
derstand this  talk.     She  was  looking  at  the  pictures. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  they  look  so  happy !  There  is  such  a 
beautiful  contentment  in  their  eyes !  They  love  each  other 
so,  that  they  think  of  nothing  but  their  love.  They  have 
forgotten  the  end." 

"Nay,  but  look  at  the  end."  . 


WHAT  IS  LOVE?  83 

"  They  are  happy  still,  although  the  river  flows  into  the 
Ocean.     How  can  they  bo  happy?" 

"You  shall  learn  more,  Christine.  You  have  seen 
enough  to  understand  that  the  talk  of  the  Physicians 
about  the  miseries  of  the  old  time  is  mischievous  non- 
sense, with  which  they  have  fooled  us  into  slavery." 

"  Oh,  if  they  heard  you—" 

"  Let  them  hear,"  he  replied,  sternly.  "  I  hope,  before 
long,  we  may  make  them  hear.  Christine,  you  can  re- 
store the  old  love  by  your  own  example.  You  alone 
have  nothing  to  remember  and  nothing  to  unlearn.  As 
for  the  rest  of  us,  we  have  old  habits  to  forget  and  prej- 
udices to  overcome  before  we  can  get  back  to  the  Past." 

Then  he  led  her  to  another  picture. 

The  scene  was  a  green  village  church -yard,  standing 
amid  trees — yews  and  oaks — and  round  a  gray  old  church. 
Six  strong  men  bore  a  bier  piled  M'ith  flowers  towards  an 
open  grave,  newly  dug.  Beside  the  grave  stood  one  in  a 
white  robe,  carrying  a  book.  Behind  the  bier  followed, 
hand -in -hand,  a  weeping  company  of  men,  women,  and 
children.     But  he  who  walked  first  wept  not. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Christine, "  he  is  dead  !     He  is  dead !" 

She  burst  into  tears. 

"Nay,"  said  Jack  ;  "it  is  the  wife  who  is  dead.  The 
husband  lives  still.  See,  he  follows  with  tottering  step. 
His  grandchild  leads  him  as  you  lead  your  grandfather. 
And  they  are  all  weeping  except  him.  Why  does  he 
alone  not  weep?  He  has  been  married  for  fifty  years 
and  more ;  all  his  life  has  been  shared  by  the  love  and 
sympathy  of  the  woman— the  dead  woman.  She  is  dead, 
my  dear  "—he  repeated  these  words,  taking  the  girl's  hands 
—"she  is  dead,  and  he  sheds  no  tears.  Why  not?  Look 
at  his  face.  Is  it  unhappy?  Tell  me,  Christine,  do  you 
read  the  sorrow  of  hopelessness  in  that  old  man's  face?" 


84  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said.  "  He  is  grave,  but  he  is  not  un- 
happy. Yet  here  is  Death,  with  all  the  terrible  things 
that  we  read  of  in  the  books— the  deep  pit,  the  body  to 
be  lowered  in  the  grave — oh !" 

She  shuddered  and  turned  her  head. 

"  As  I  read  his  face,"  said  Jack, "  I  see  hope  and  conso- 
lation." 

"  Why  is  there  a  man  in  white  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  some  time.  Meanwhile,  observe  that 
the  old  man  is  happy,  though  his  wife  is  dead,  and  though 
he  knows  that  to-morrow  his  turn  will  come,  and  a  grave 
will  be  dug  for  him  beside  his  wife,  and  he  also  will  be 
laid  among  the  cold  clay -clods,  as  cold,  as  senseless  as 
them,  there  to  lie  while  the  great  world  rolls  round  and 
round.  He  knows  this,  I  say,  and  yet  he  is  not  un- 
happy." 

"  What  does  it  mean.  Jack  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you — soon." 

"  We  who  are  sailors,"  this  young  man  continued,  "  are 
not  like  the  rest  of  the  world.  We  are  always  exposed 
to  danger;  we  are  not  afraid  to  speak  of  Death;  and 
though  we  have  taken  advantage  (as  we  thought)  of  the 
Great  Discovery,  we  have  never  forgotten  the  Past  or  the 
old  ideas.  We  have  to  think  for  ourselves,  which  makes 
us  independent.  There  is  no  Holy  College  on  board  ship, 
and  no  sacred  Physician  ventures  his  precious  life  upon  a 
rolling  deck.  When  we  come  ashore,  we  look  round  and 
see  things.  Then  we  go  on  board  again  and  talk,  in  the 
night  watches  below  the  stars.  I  think  the  Holy  College 
would  be  pleased  if  they  could  sometimes  hear  our  talk. 
Christine,  there  is  no  happiness  left  in  the  world  except 
among  those  whom  the  Great  Discovery  cannot  save  from 
the  dangers  of  a  storm.  When  you  spoke  to  me  my  heart 
leaped  up,  because  I  saw  what  as  yet  you  do  not  see. 


WHAT   IS   LOVE?  85 

The  others  were  too  sluggish  to  remember,  until  you 
had  dragged  their  thoughts  into  the  old  channels ;  but 
there  was  no  need  to  drag  me  ;  for  I  remember  always, 
and  I  only  pretended  until  the  others  should  come  with 
me." 

Christine  heard  only  half  of  this,  for  she  was  looking  at 
the  picture  of  the  village  funeral  again. 

"Oh,  how  could  men  be  happy  with  such  an  end  be- 
fore them  ?"  she  cried.  "  I  cannot  understand  it.  To  be 
torn  away,  to  be  laid  in  a  box,  to  be  put  away  deep  under- 
ground, there  to  lie  forever — oh !"  She  trembled  again. 
"  And  not  to  be  unhappy  !" 

"  Look  round  the  room,  Christine.  Read  the  faces. 
Here  are  portraits  of  men  and  women.  Some  of  them 
are  eager,  some  are  calm,  more  are  unhappy  for  thinking 
of  the  end.  Here  is  a  battle-field ;  the  dead  and  wounded 
are  lying  about  the  ground.  Look  at  this  troop  of  horse- 
men charging.  Is  there  any  terror  in  their  faces  ?  What 
do  they  care  about  the  men  who  have  fallen  ?  Their  duty 
is  to  tight.  See  here  again.  It  is  a  dying  girl.  What  do 
you  read  in  her  face?  I  see  no  fear,  but  a  sweet  joy  of 
resignation.  Here  is  a  man  led  forth  to  execution.  There 
is  no  fear  in  his  face." 

"  I  could  never  bear  to  be  alone  in  this  room,  because 
Death  is  everywhere,  and  no  one  seems  to  regard  it." 

"  Christine,  did  you  never  hear,  by  any  chance,  from 
your  grandfather  why  people  were  not  afraid  V^ 

"  No ;  he  cannot  bear  to  speak  of  such  a  thing.  He 
trembles  and  shakes  if  it  is  even  mentioned.  They  all  do, 
except  you." 

"  What  does  he  tell  you  ?" 

"  He  talks  of  the  time  when  he  was  young.  It  was 
long  before  the  Great  Discovery.  Oh,  he  is  very  old. 
He  was  always  going  to  feasts  and  dances.      He  had  a 


86  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

great  many  friends,  and  some  of  them  used  to  sing  and 
dance  in  theatres.  They  were  all  very  fond  of  suppers 
after  the  theatre,  and  there  was  a  great  deal  of  singing 
and  laughing.  They  used  to  drive  about  in  carriages,  and 
they  went  to  races.  I  do  not  understand,  very  well,  the 
pleasure  of  his  life." 

"  Ah,"  said  Jack,  "  he  has  forgotten  the  really  impor- 
tant part  of  it." 

They  were  at  a  part  of  the  Gallery  where  there  was  a 
door  of  strong  oak,  studded  with  big  square  nails,  under 
an  arch  of  carved  stone. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  into  this  place  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Once  I  went  in.  But  there  is  a  dreadful  tomb  in  it, 
with  carved  skulls  and  the  figure  of  a  dead  man.  So  I 
ran  away," 

"Come  in  with  me.     You  shall  not  be  frightened." 

He  turned  the  great  iron  handle,  and  pushed  open  the 
heavy  door. 

The  room  was  lofty,  with  a  pointed  roof.  It  was  lit  by 
long  narrow  windows,  filled  with  painted  glass.  There 
were  seats  of  carved  wood,  with  carved  canopies  on  either 
side  ;  there  was  the  figure  of  a  brass  eagle,  with  a  great 
book  upon  it;  and  under  the  three  lights  of  the  window 
at  the  end  was  a  table  covered  with  a  cloth  which  hung  in 
rags  and  tatters,  and  was  covered  with  dust.  It  was,  in 
fact,  an  ancient  Chapel,  shut  up  and  suffered  to  fall  into 
decay. 

"  This,"  said  the  young  man,  "  is  the  Chapel  where,  in 
the  old  time,  they  came  to  worship.  They  also  worshipped 
in  the  great  place  that  is  now  the  House  of  Life.  But 
here  some  of  them  worshipped  also,  though  with  less 
splendor." 

"  Did  they,"  asked  the  girl,  "  worship  the  Beautiful 
"Woman  of  their  dreams?" 


WHAT   IS   LOVE?  87 

"  No,  not  the  Beautiful  Woman.  They  worshipped  her 
outside.  In  this  Chapel  they  worshipped  the  Maker  of 
Perfect  Man  and  Perfect  Woman.  Come  in  witli  me,  and 
I  will  tell  you  something  of  what  it  meant." 

*  ***** 

It  was  two  honrs  and  more  before  they  came  out  of  the 
Chapel,  The  girl's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  tears  lay 
upon  his  cheeks. 

'"  My  dear,  my  love,"  said  Jack,  "  I  have  tried  to  show 
you  how  the  old  true  love  was  nourished  and  sustained. 
It  would  not  have  lived  but  for  the  short  duration  of  its 
life ;  it  Was  the  heritage  of  each  generation,  to  be  passed 
on  unto  the  next.  Only  on  one  condition  was  it  possible. 
It  is  a  condition  which  you  have  been  taught  to  believe 
horrible  beyond  the  power  of  words.  I  have  tried  to 
show  you  that  it  was  not  horrible.  My  love,  my  sweet — 
fresh  as  the  maidens  who  in  the  old  time  blossomed  and 
flowered,  and  presently  fulfilled  that  condition — the  only 
woman  among  us  who  is  young  in  heart,  let  us  agree  to 
love — we  two — after  the  old  fashion,  under  the  old  con- 
ditions. Do  not  shiver,  dear.  There  is  the  old  faith  to 
sustain  us.  You  shall  go  to  sea  with  rae.  Perliaps  we 
shall  be  cast  away  and  drowned ;  perhaps  we  shall  con- 
tract some  unknown  disease  and  die.  We  shall  presently 
lie  down  to  sleep,  and  awake  again  in  each  other's  arms 
t»nce  more  in  a  new  life  which  we  cannot  now  compre- 
hend. P]verything  must  have  an  end.  Human  life  must 
have  an  end,  or  it  becomes  horrible,  monstrous,  selfish. 
The  life  beyond  will  be  glorified  beyond  all  our  hopes, 
and  beyond  all  our  imagination.  IMy  dear,  are  you 
afraid  ^ 

She  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Oil,  Jack,  with  you  I  am  afraid  of  nothing.  I  should 
not  be  afraid  to  die  this  very  moment,  if  we  died  together. 


88  THE  INNER  HOUSE. 

Is  it  really  true  ?  Can  we  love  now  as  men  loved  women 
long  ago  ?  Oh,  can  you  love  me  so  ?  I  am  so  weak  and 
small  a  creature — so  weak  and  foolish !  I  would  die  with 
you,  Jack — both  together,  taking  each  other  by  the  hand ; 
and  oh,  if  you  were  to  die  first,  I  could  not  live  after.  I 
must,  then,  die  too.  My  head  is  swimming — my  heart  is 
beating — lay  your  arm  about  me.  Oh,  love,  my  love ;  I 
have  never  lived  before.  Oh,  welcome  Life,  and  welcome 
Death,  so  that  we  may  never,  never  more  be  parted !" 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE   OPEN   DOOR. 


It  was  in  this  way  that  the  whole  trouble  began.  There 
was  an  inquisitive  girl  foolishly  allowed  to  grow  up  in 
this  ancient  Museum  and  among  the  old  books,  who  devel- 
oped a  morbid  curiosity  for  the  Fast,  of  which  the  books 
and  pictures  and  collections  taught  her  something;  yet 
not  all  she  wished  to  learn.  She  was  unconsciously  aided 
by  the  old  man,  who  had  been  approaching  his  second 
childhood  even  at  the  time  of  the  Great  Discovery,  and 
whose  memory  now  continually  carried  him  backward 
to  the  days  of  his  youth,  without  the  least  recollection  of 
the  great  intervals  between.  Lastly,  there  had  come  to 
the  town,  in  the  pursuit  of  his  business,  a  sailor,  restless 
and  discontented,  as  is  the  case  with  all  his  class,  ques- 
tioning and  independent ;  impatient  of  authority,  and 
curiously  unable  to  forget  the  old  times.  The  sailor  and 
the  girl,  between  them,  at  first  instigated  and  pushed  on 
the  whole  business ;  they  were  joined,  no  doubt,  by  many 
others;  but  these  two  were  the  first  leaders.  The  Chief 
Culprit  of  all,  the  nominal  Leader — but  you  shall  pres- 
ently hear  what  kind  of  excuse  could  be  made  for  him  by 


THE   OPEN   DOOR.  89 

himself.  As  for  those  wlioin  they  dragged  rehictantly 
out  of  the  trauquilHty  of  oblivion,  they  were  at  first  wholly 
drawn  from  the  class  which,  at  the  outset,  gave  us  so 
much  trouble  —  the  so-called  gentle  class — who  desired 
nothing  so  much  as  to  continue  to  live  under  the  old  con- 
ditions— namely,  by  the  labor  of  others.  It  wanted,  for 
these  people,  only  the  revival  of  memory  to  produce 
the  revival  of  discontent.  AVhen  their  minds  were  once 
more  filled  with  the  thought  of  the  things  they  had 
lost — the  leadership,  the  land,  the  wealth,  and  with  the 
memory  of  the  arts  which  they  had  formerly  loved — 
music,  painting,  letters — and  with  the  actual  sight,  once 
more  restored  to  them,  of  their  old  amusements — their 
dancing,  their  society,  their  singing,  their  games;  and 
when  the  foolish  old  idol,  Love,  was  once  more  trotted 
out,  like  an  old-fashioned  Guy  Fawkes,  decked  in  his  silly 
old  rainbow  tints ;  when,  night  after  night,  they  actually 
began  to  play,  act,  and  to  pretend  these  things,  what  could 
possibly  follow  but  revolt,  with  subsequent  punishment 
and  expulsion?  You  shall  hear.  Of  course,  they  would 
have  been  punished  with  expulsion  had  not — but  every- 
thing in  its  place. 

Five  or  six  weeks  after  the  first  evening,  which  I  have 
described  at  full  length,  the  Museum  was  again  occupied 
by  the  same  company,  increased  by  a  good  many  more. 
The  women  came  in  more  readily,  being  sooner  caught 
with  the  bait  of  fine  dress,  which  had  such  an  attraction 
for  them  that  the  mere  sight  of  it  caused  them  to  forget 
everything  that  had  been  done  for  them — their  present 
tranquillity,  their  freedom  from  agitation  and  anxiety — 
and  carried  them  back  to  the  old  time,  when  they  wore, 
indeed,  those  dainty  dresses.  What  they  endured,  besides, 
they  do  not  so  readily  remember;  but  the  dresses  carried 
back  their  minds  to  the  society  which  once  filled  up  the 


90  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

whole  worthless  lives  of  these  poor  creatures.  I  say,  there- 
fore, that  it  was  easier  to  attract  the  women  than  the  men ; 
for  the  latter,  no  bait  at  all  corresponding  in  power  could 
be  discovered.  The  company  assembled  were  engaged  in 
much  the  same  sort  of  make-believe  and  play-acting  as  on 
the  first  evening.  They  were  dressed  in  the  old  fashion ; 
they  danced,  they  sang,  they  talked  and  laughed — actual- 
ly they  talked  and  laughed — though  what  there  is,  from 
any  view  of  life  to  laugh  about,  I  never  could  understand. 
Laughing,  however,  belonged  to  the  old  manners;  and 
they  had  now  completely  recovered  the  old  manners — 
anything,  however  foolish,  which  belonged  to  that  time 
would  have  been  welcomed  by  them.  So  they  laughed; 
for  the  same  reason,  they  were  full  of  animation  ;  and  the 
old,  old  unhappy  emotion  which  I  had  thought  blotted 
out  forever — restlessness — had  either  broken  out  among 
them  or  was  well  simulated.  They  were  all  young,  save 
for  the  old  man  who  sat  in  his  chair  coughing,  and  some- 
times talking.  Christine  had  dressed  him  in  a  velvet  coat, 
which  gave  him  great  dignity,  and  made  him  look  as  if 
he  was  taking  part  in  the  play.  I  say  not  that  the  acting 
was  not  very  good — of  the  kind.  Acting  of  any  kind  could 
never  have  served  any  useful  purpose,  even  in  the  Past. 
Perhaps  a  company  of  beautiful  women,  beautifully  dress- 
ed, and  of  gallant  men — I  talk  their  own  foolish  language 
— amusing  themselves  in  this  way,  may  have  given  pleas- 
ure to  some,  but  not  to  those  among  whom  I  was  born.  In 
the  days  when  these  things  were  done  every  night  at  one 
part  of  the  town,  in  another  part  the  men  were  drinking, 
if  they  had  any  money,  and  the  women  and  children  were 
starving.  And  much  they  concerned  themselves  about 
dancing  and  laughing !  Laughing,  indeed !  My  part  of 
the  town  was  where  they  starved.  There  was  mighty 
little  laughing  among  us,  I  can  promise  you. 


THE  OPEN   DOOR.  91 

In  their  masquerading  they  had  naturally,  as  if  it  was 
a  part  of  the  life  they  represented,  assumed,  as  I  have 
said,  the  old  expression  of  eagerness,  as  if  there  was  al- 
ways something  wanting.  And  yet,  I  say,  they  laughed 
with  each  other.  In  the  unreasonable,  illogical  way  of 
the  Past,  although  everybody  always  wanted  everything 
for  himself,  and  tried  to  overreach  his  neighbor,  it  was 
the  custom  to  pretend  that  nobody  wanted  anything,  but 
that  everybody  trusted  his  friend,  and  that  everybody 
lived  for  the  sole  purpose  of  helping  other  people. 
Therefore,  they  shook  hands  continually,  and  grinned  at 
each  other  when  they  met,  as  if  they  were  pleased  to 
meet  and —  Well,  the  hypocrisies  of  the  Fast  were  as 
ridiculous  as  its  selfishness  was  base. 

But  three  of  the  party  sat  apart  in  the  Picture  Gallery. 
They  were  Christine  and  the  two  cousins,  Mildred  and 
Jack  Carera.     They  were  talking  seriously  and  gravely. 

"  It  comes,  then,"  said  Jack,  "  to  this :  that  to  all  of  us 
the  Present  has  grown  to  be  utterly  hateful,  and  to  one 
or  two  of  us  intolerable." 

"  Intolerable !"  the  other  two  repeated. 

"  We  are  resolved,  for  our  own  selves  at  least,  that  we 
will  have  no  more  of  it,  if  we  can  help  it.  Are  we  not? 
But,  Cousin  Mildred,  let  us  remember  that  we  are  only 
three.  Perhaps,  among  our  friends  in  the  Museum,  there 
may  be  half  a  dozen  more  who  have  learned  to  feel  as 
str(»ngly  as  ourselves.  Is  half  a  dozen  a  Party  large 
enough  to  effect  a  Revolution  ?  Remember,  it  is  useless 
to  think  of  remonstrance  or  petition  with  the  College. 
No  King,  Council,  or  Parliament  in  the  Past  was  ever 
half  so  autocratic  as  the  College  of  Pliysicians. 

"I  used  to  read,"  he  went  on,  "ages  ago,  about  the 
Domination  of  Priests.  I  don't  think  any  Rule  of  Priests 
was  ever  half  so  intolerant  or  so  thorough  as  the  Rule  of 


92  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

the  Physicians.  They  have  not  only  deprived  ns  of  the 
Eight  of  Thought,  but  also  of  the  Power  of  Thought. 
The  poor  people  cannot  think.  It  is  a  truly  desperate 
state  of  things.  A  few  years  more  and  we,  too,  shall  sink 
into  the  same  awful  slough — " 

"  Some  of  us  were  in  it  already,  but  Christine  pulled 
us  out,"  said  Mildred. 

"Shall  we  ever  get  another  chance  of  getting  out?" 
Jack  asked.     "  I  think  not." 

"  Well,  Jack,  go  on." 

"  As  for  these  evening  meetings  of  ours,  you  may  be 
very  sure  that  they  will  be  found  out  before  long,  and 
that  they  will  be  stopped.  Do  you  think  that  Grout — 
Grout ! — will  suffer  his  beloved  invention  of  the  common 
dress  to  be  trampled  on?  Do  you  imagine  that  Grout 
will  suffer  the  revival  of  the  old  forms  of  society  ?" 

"Oh,"  Christine  replied,  "if  we  could  convert  Dr. 
Grout !" 

"  Another  danger,"  said  Jack, "  is,  that  we  may  all  get 
tired  of  these  meetings.  You  see,  they  are  not  the  real 
thing.  Formerly,  the  evening  followed  the  day ;  it  was 
the  feast  after  the  fight.  Where  is  now  the  fight  ?  And 
all  the  dancing,  courting,  pretty  speeches,  and  tender 
looks,  meant  only  the  fore -words  of  Love  in  earnest. 
J^ow,  are  we  ready  again  for  Love  in  earnest?  Can  the 
men  once  more  worship  the  women  upon  whom  they 
have  gazed  so  long  unmoved?  If  so,  we  must  brave  the 
College  and  face  the  consequences.  I  know  of  two  peo- 
ple only  who  are  at  present  so  much  in  earnest  as  to 
brave  the  College.     They  are  Christine  and  myself." 

He  took  the  girl's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  You  may  add  one  more,  Jack,"  said  Mildred.  "  If 
you  go  away  with  Christine,  take  me  with  you ;  for  the 
Present  is  more  intolerable  than  any  possible  Future." 


THE   OPEN   DOOR.  93 

"  That  makes  three,  then.  There  may  be  more.  Geof- 
frey and  Dorothy  are  never  tired  of  whispering  and  bill- 
ing. Perhaps  they,  too,  arc  strong  enough  to  throw  off 
the  old  terrors  and  to  join  us.     But  we  shall  see." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mildred,  "  it  might  depend  partly  on  how 
the  case  is  put  before  them.  If  you  made  them  see  very 
clearly  the  miseries  of  their  present  life,  and  made  them 
yearn  ardently  for  the  things  which  they  have  only  just  re- 
membered, some  of  them  might  follow,  at  all  costs.  But  for 
most  the  College  and  what  it  holds  would  prove  too  much." 

"  Yet  you  yourself — and  Christine — " 

"  As  for  me,  it  seems  as  if  I  remember  more  than  any- 
body because  I  think  of  the  sorrows  of  the  Past.  I  can- 
not tell  now  how  I  ever  came  to  forget  those  sorrows. 
And  they  are  now  grown  so  dear  to  me,  that  for  the  very 
fear  of  losing  them  again,  I  would  give  up  the  Gift  of 
the  College  and  go  with  you.  As  for  Christine,  she  has 
never  known  at  all  the  dread  which  they  now  pretend 
used  to  fill  all  our  minds  and  poisoned  all  our  lives. 
How,  then,  should  she  hesitate  ?  Besides,  she  loves  you. 
Jack — and  that  is  enough." 

"  Quite  enough,"  said  Christine,  smiling. 

"  If  you  remember  everything,"  Jack  went  on,  gravely, 
"  you  remember,  Mildred,  that  there  was  something  in 
life  besides  play  and  society.  In  a  corner  of  your  father's 
park,  for  instance,  there  was  an  old  gray  building,  with  a 
small  tower  and  a  peal  of  bells.  The  place  stood  in  a 
square  enclosure,  in  which  were  an  old  broken  cross,  an 
ancient  yew-tree,  two  or  three  head-stones,  and  the  graves 
of  buried  villagers.  You  remember  that  place,  Mildred  ? 
You  and  I  have  often  played  in  that  ground ;  on  week- 
days we  have  prowled  about  the  old  building  and  read 
the  monuments  on  the  walls;  on  Sundays  we  used  to  sit 
there  with  all  the  people.     Do  you  remember  T' 


94  THE  INNER  HOUSE. 

Mildred  clasped  her  hands. 

"  How  could  I  ever  forget  ?"  she  cried.  "  How  could 
any  of  us  forget  ?" 

"  Because  Grout  robbed  you  of  your  memory,  my  cous- 
in.    He  could  not  rob  mine." 

"  Alas !"  she  lamented,  "  how  can  we  ever  get  that  back 
again  ?" 

"  By  memory,  Mildred.  It  will  come  back  presently. 
Think  of  that,  and  you  will  be  less  afraid  to  come  with 
us.  If  that  was  able  to  comfort  the  world  formerly  when 
the  world  was  full  of  life  and  joy  and  needed  so  little 
comfort,  what  should  it  not  do  for  you  now,  when  the 
world  is  so  dull  and  dismal,  and  the  Awful  Present  is  so 
long  that  it  seems  never  to  have  had  a  beginning,  just  as 
it  promises  never  to  have  an  end.  Courage,  Cousin  Mil- 
dred. 

"  And  now,"  he  went  on,  after  a  pause,  "  for  my  plan. 
My  ship  is  bound  for  any  port  to  which  the  College  may 
despatch  her.  She  must  sail  in  about  four  or  five  weeks. 
I  shall  take  you  both  on  board.  Christine  will  be  my 
wife — you  shall  be  our  companion.  Perhaps  one  or  two 
more  may  go  with  us.  We  shall  take  certain  things  that 
we  shall  want.  I  can  procure  all  these  without  the  least 
suspicion,  and  we  shall  sail  to  an  island  of  which  I  know, 
where  the  air  is  always  warm  and  the  soil  is  fruitful. 
There  the  sailors  shall  land  us  and  shall  sail  away,  unless 
they  please  to  join  us.  And  there  we  will  live  out  our 
allotted  lives,  without  asking  anything  of  the  College. 
The  revival  of  that  lost  part  of  your  memory,  Mildred, 
will  serve  you  in  place  of  what  they  could  have  given 
you.  You  agree?  Well,  that  is  settled,  then.  Let  us  go 
back." 

But,  as  you  shall  see,  this  plan  was  never  carried  out. 


THE   OPEN  DOOR,  95 

"When  all  went  away  that  evening,  Mildred  remained 
behind. 

"  Christine,''  she  said,  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you. 
Take  nie  somewliere — to  some  dark  place — where  we  can 
whisper." 

One  might  as  well  have  talked  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
just  where  they  were,  for  any  chance  of  being  heard  ; 
but  guilt  made  the  woman  tremble. 

"  Come  into  the  Picture  Gallery,"  said  Christine,  lead- 
ing the  way.  "  No  one  can  hear  what  we  say  there.  My 
dear,  in  the  old  days  when  people  were  going  to  conspire 
they  always  began  by  going  to  dark  galleries,  vaults,  and 
secret  places.  This  is  quite  delightful.  I  feel  like  a  con- 
spirator." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  me,  dear,"  said  Mildred  ;  "  for,  indeed, 
when  you  have  heard  what  I  have  to  say,  you  will  feel 
very  much  more  like  a  conspirator." 

The  room  was  in  darkness,  but  for  the  moonlight  which 
poured  in  through  the  windows  of  one  side,  and  made 
queer  work  with  the  pictures  on  which  it  fell.  At  the 
end  the  moonlight  shone  through  the  door,  hardly  ever 
used,  which  led  from  the  Gallery  into  the  Garden  of  the 
College  beyond. 

"  What  is  that  V\  Mildred  caught  Christine  by  the 
hand. 

"  It  is  the  door  leading  into  the  College  Gardens.  How 
came  it  open  V 

"  Have  you  a  key  ?" 

"  I  suppose  there  is  a  key  on  the  old  rusty  bunch  hang- 
ing up  in  the  Museum,  but  I  do  not  know — I  have  never 
tried  the  keys.     Who  could  have  opened  it  ?" 

Christine  walked  down  the  Gallery  hastily,  Mildred  fol- 
lowing.    The  door  was  standing  wide  open. 

"  Who  has  done  this  ?"  asked  Christine,  again.     "  I  can- 


96  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

not  tell  who  oould  have  opened  the  door,  or  why.  It  has 
never  been  opened  before." 

Mildred  shuddered.  "  It  is  thrown  open  for  some  mis- 
chief," she  said ;  "  we  shall  find  out  soon  enough  by 
whom." 

Then  they  looked  out  through  the  door  into  the  Gar- 
den of  the  College.  The  door  faced  a  semicircular  lawn 
run  wild  with  rank  grass  never  shorn ;  behind  the  lawn 
were  trees ;  and  the  moonlight  lay  on  all. 

Suddenly  the  girls  caught  hands  and  shrank  back  into 
the  door-way,  for  a  tall  form  emerged  from  the  trees  and 
appeared  upon  the  lawn,  where  he  walked  with  hanging 
head  and  hands  clasped  behind  his  back. 

"  It  is  the  Arch  Physician !"  Christine  whispered. 

"  It  is  Harry  Linister,"  Mildred  murmured. 

Then  they  retreated  within  and  shut  the  door  noiseless- 
ly ;  but  they  could  not  lock  or  fasten  it. 

"  I  can  see  that  part  of  the  Garden  from  a  window 
in  the  Library,"  said  Christine.  "  He  walks  there  every 
morning  and  every  evening.  He  is  always  alone.  He 
always  hangs  his  head,  and  he  always  looks  fit  to  cry  for 
trouble.  What  is  the  good  of  being  Arch  Physician,  if 
you  cannot  have  things  done  as  you  want  ?" 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mildred,  "  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  quite 
understand.  In  the  old  days — I  mean  not  quite  the  dear 
old  days,  but  in  the  time  when  people  still  discussed  things 
and  we  had  not  been  robbed  of  memory  and  of  under- 
standing— it  was  very  well  known  that  the  Arch  Physi- 
cian was  out-voted  in  the  College  by  Grout  and  his 
Party." 

"By  Doctor  Grout?" 

"  My  dear,  Grout  was  never  a  Doctor.  He  only  calls 
himself  Doctor.  I  remember  when  Grout  was  an  ignorant 
man  taken  into  Professor  Linister's  Laboratory  to  wash 


THE  OPEN  DOOR.  97 

up  the  pots  and  bottles.  He  was  thin,  just  as  he  is  now 
— a  short,  dark,  and  soiir-faced  man,  with  bright  eyes. 
Oh,  a  clever  man,  I  dare  say,  but  ignorant,  and  full  of 
hatred  for  the  class  of  culture  and  refinement.  It  was 
Grout  who  led  the  Party  which  took  away  land  and 
wealth  from  individuals  and  transferred  all  to  the  State. 
It  was  Grout  who  ordered  the  Massacre  of  the  Old.  It 
was  Grout  who  invented  the  horrible  cruelty  of  tlie  Com- 
mon Dress.  It  was  Grout  who  made  the  College  what  it 
is — not  what  it  was  meant  to  be.  It  was  originally  the 
Guardian  of  Life  and  Health.  It  has  become  the  Tyrant 
of  tlie  People.  It  has  destroyed  everything — everything 
that  makes  life  possible — and  it  tells  the  People  to  be  hap- 
py because  they  live.  It  is  Grout — Grout ! — who  has  done 
this.     Not  the  Arch  Physician.     Not  Harry  Linister." 

"Why  do  you  say  'Harry  Linister,'  Mildred?" 

"  My  dear,  I  think  that  of  all  women  living  I  have  the 
greatest  cause  to  hate  the  Great  Discovery,  because  it 
robbed  me  of  my  lover." 

"Tell  me  how,  dear." 

"I  told  you,  Christine,  that  the  revival  of  the  Past  was 
the  revival  of  sorrows  that  I  would  never  agrain  forget. 
Listen,  then,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  they  were.  When 
the  Great  Discovery  was  announced,  Harry  Linister  was 
already  a  man  well  known  in  Science,  Christine ;  but  he 
was  also  well  known  in  Society  as  well.  Science  did  not 
prevent  him  from  falling  in  love.  And  he  fell  in  love 
with — me.  Yes — with  me.  We  met  that  fatal  cveninjr 
at  the  Royal  Institution,  and  we  arranged,  before  tlie 
Lecture,  where  we  should  meet  after  the  Lecture.  My 
dear,  I  knew  very  well  what  he  was  going  to  say  ;  and — 
oh,  my  poor  heart! — how  happy  I  was  to  think  of  it! 
There  was  nobody  in  London  more  clever,  more  hand- 
some, and  more  promising  than  Harry.  He  was  rich,  if 
7 


98  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

that  mattered  anything  to  me ;  he  was  ah'eady  a  Fellow 
of  the  Royal  Society,  for  some  great  discoveries  he  had 
made ;  everybody  said  that  a  splendid  career  was  before 
him — and  he  loved  me,  Christine." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  the  news  of  the  Great  Discove-ry  carried  him 
out  of  himself.  He  forgot  his  love — and  me — and  every- 
thing. "When  his  eyes  fell  npon  me  again,  I  know  not 
how  long  after,  I  was  in  the  hideous  Common  Dress,  and 
he  no  more  recognized  me  than  a  stranger  would  recog- 
nize one  out  of  a  herd  of  sheep." 

"How  could  he  forget?  Do  you  think  that  Jack  could 
ever  forget  me  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  not,  at  any  rate.  Now,  Christine,  I 
am  going  to  try  something  serious.  I  am  going  to  try  to 
convert  the  Arch  Physician  himself !" 

"Mildred!" 

"  Why  not  ?  He  is  still  a  man,  I  suppose.  Nobody 
ever  thought  that  Grout  was  a  man  ;  but  Harry  Linister 
was  once  a  man,  and  should  be  still.  And  if  he  have  a 
memory  as  well  as  eyes,  why — then — "  she  sighed.  "  But 
that  would  be  too  much,  indeed,  to  hope." 

"  What  if  you  win  him,  Mildred  ?" 

"  Why,  child,  he  used  to  love  me.  Is  not  that  enough  ? 
Besides,  he  knows  the  Great  Secret.  If  we  have  him  with 
us,  we  have  also  with  us  all  the  people  whom  we  can 
shake,  push,  or  prick  out  of  their  present  miserable 
apathy.  Why  did  we  ever  agree  to  the  stupid  work  day 
by  day  ?  We  began  by  fighting  for  the  wealth,  and  those 
who  survived  enjoyed  it.  Why  did  we  not  go  on  fight- 
ing? Why  did  we  consent  to  wear  this  hideous  dress? 
Why  did  we  consent  to  be  robbed  of  our  intelligence,  and 
to  be  reduced  to  the  condition  of  sheep?  All  because  the 
College  had  the  Great  Secret,  and  they  made  the  People 


THE   OPEN    DOOR.  99 

think  that  to  forego  that  one  advantage  was  worse  than 
all  other  evils  that  could  happen  to  them.  It  was  Grout 
— the  villany  of  Grout — that  did  it.  Now,  if  we  can  by 
any  persuasion  draw  the  Arch  Phj^sician  over  to  ourselves, 
we  win  the  cause  for  all  those  who  join  us,  because  they 
will  lose  nothing." 

"  How  will  you  win  him,  Mildred  ?" 

"  Child,  you  are  young ;  you  do  not  know  the  history 
of  Delilah,  of  the  Sirens,  of  Circe,  of  Cleopatra,  of  Yivien, 
of  a  thousand  Fair  Ladies  who  have  witched  away  the 
senses  of  great  men,  so  that  they  have  become  as  wax 
in  the  hands  of  their  conquerors.  Poor  Harry !  His 
heart  was  not  always  as  hard  as  stone,  nor  was  it  always 
as  heavy  as  lead.  I  would  witch  him,  if  I  could,  for  his 
own  happiness,  poor  lad ! — and  for  mine  as  well.  Let 
him  only  come  with  us,  bringing  the  precious  Secret,  and 
we  are  safe !" 

It  has  been  observed  that  many  hard  things  were  said 
concerning  me  —  Grout  —  and  that  I  have,  nevertheless, 
written  them  down.  First,'  the  things  are  all  true,  and  I 
rejoice  to  think  of  the  part  that  I  have  always  played  in 
the  conduct  of  the  People  since  the  Great  Discovery  en- 
abled me  to  obtain  a  share  in  that  conduct.  Next,  it  may 
be  asked  how  I  became  possessed  of  this  information. 
That  3'ou  shall  presently  understand. 

All  that  I  have  done  in  my  public  capacity  —  as  for 
private  life,  I  never  had  an}-,  except  that  one  goes  into  a 
private  room  for  sleep — has  been  for  the  Advancement  of 
Humanity.  In  order  to  effect  this  advance  with  the 
greater  case,  I  found  it  necessary  to  get  rid  of  useless 
hands  —  therefore  the  Old  were  sacrificed ;  to  adopt  one 
common  standard  in  everything,  so  that  there  should  be 
the  same  hours  of  work  for  all,  the  same  food  both  in 


100  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

quantity  and  quality,  the  same  dress,  and  the  same  hous- 
ing. As  by  far  the  greater  number  belong  to  what  were 
formerly  known  as  the  lower  classes,  everything  has 
been  a  gain  for  them.  ISTow,  a  gain  for  the  majority  is  a 
gain  for  Humanity.  As  for  the  abolition  of  disturbing 
emotions,  such  as  Love,  Jealousy,  Ambition,  Study,  Learn- 
ing, and  the  like,  the  loss  of  them  is,  of  course,  pure  gain. 
In  short,  I  willingly  set  down  all  that  may  be  or  has  been 
said  against  myself,  being  quite  satisfied  to  let  the  truth 
speak  for  itself.  I  have  now  to  tell  of  the  Daring  At- 
tempt made  upon  the  Fidelity  of  the  Chief — the  Arch 
Physician  himself. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   ARCH    PHYSICIAN. 


The  Arch  Physician  generally  walked  in  the  College 
Gardens  for  an  hour  or  so  every  forenoon.  They  are  very 
large  and  spacious  Gardens,  including  plantations  of  trees, 
orchards,  ferneries,  lawns,  flower-beds,  and  shrubberies.  In 
one  corner  is  a  certain  portion  which,  having  been  left 
entirely  alone  by  the  gardeners,  has  long  since  become 
like  a  tangled  coppice,  rather  than  a  garden,  covered  with 
oaks  and  elms  and  all  kinds  of  trees,  and  overgrown  with 
thick  underwoods.  It  was  in  this  wild  and  secluded  part 
that  Dr.  Linister  daily  walked.  It  lay  conveniently  at  the 
back  of  his  own  residence,  and  adjoining  the  Museum  and 
Picture  Gallery.  ISTo  one  came  here  except  himself,  and 
but  for  the  beaten  path  which  his  footsteps  had  made  in 
their  daily  walk,  the  place  would  have  become  entirely 
overgrown.  As  it  was,  there  were  thick  growths  of  holly 
and   of  yew ;   tall   hawthorn-trees,  wild  roses  spreading 


THE   ARCH   PHYSICIAN.  101 

about  amoDg  brambles;  ferns  grew  tall  in  the  shade,  and 
under  the  great  trees  there  was  a  deep  shadow  even  on 
the  brightest  day.  In  this  neglected  wood  there  were 
creatures  of  all  kinds  —  rabbits,  squirrels,  snakes,  moles, 
badgers,  weasels,  and  stoats.  There  were  also  birds  of  all 
kinds  in  the  wood,  and  in  the  stream  that  ran  through 
the  place  there  were  otters.  In  this  solitary  place  Dr. 
Linister  walked  every  day  and  meditated.  The  wildness 
and  the  solitude  pleased  and  soothed  him.  I  have  already 
explained  that  he  had  always,  from  the  outset,  been  most 
strongly  opposed  to  the  policy  of  the  majority,  and  that 
he  was  never  free  from  a  certain  melancholy.  Perhaps 
he  meditated  on  the  world  as  he  would  have  made  it,  had 
he  been  able  to  have  his  own  way, 

I  have  heard  that  much  was  said  among  the  Rebels 
about  my  conduct  during  these  events,  as  wanting  in 
Gratitude.  In  the  first  place,  if  it  is  at  all  necessary  for 
me  to  defend  my  conduct,  let  me  point  out  that  my  duty 
to  the  Authority  of  the  House  must  come  before  every- 
thing— certainly  before  the  claims  of  private  gratitude. 
In  the  second  place,  I  owe  no  gratitude  at  all  to  Dr.  Lin- 
ister, or  to  anybod}'.  I  have  made  myself.  Whatever  I 
have  done,  alone  I  have  done  it,  and  unaided.  Dr.  Lin- 
ister, it  is  very  true,  received  me  into  his  laboratory  as 
bottle-washer  and  servant.  Very  good.  lie  paid  me  my 
wages,  and  I  did  his  work  for  him.  Much  room  for  grati- 
tude there.  He  looked  for  the  proper  discharge  of  the 
work,  and  I  looked  for  the  regular  payment  of  the  wages. 
Where  does  the  gratitude  come  in  ?  He  next  taught  me 
the  elements  of  science.  To  be  sure,  he  wanted  the  sim- 
pler part  of  his  experiments  conducted  by  a  skilled,  not  an 
ignorant,  hand.  Therefore  he  taught  me  those  elements. 
Tlie  better  skilled  the  band,  the  more  he  could  depend 


102  ,  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

upon  the  successful  conduct  of  liis  research.  Therefore, 
when  he  found  that  he  could  depend  upon  ray  eye  and 
hand,  he  taught  me  more,  and  encouraged  me  to  work  on 
my  own  account,  and  gave  me  the  best  books  to  read. 
V^ery  good.     All  for  his  own  purposes. 

What  happened  next?  Presently,  Grout  the  Bottle- 
washer  became  so  important  in  the  laboratory  that  he  be- 
came Grout  the  Assistant,  or  Demonstrator  ;  and  another 
Bottle-washer  was  appointed — a  worthy  creature  who  still 
performs  that  useful  Function,  and  desires  nothing  more 
than  to  wash  the  bottles  truly  and  thoroughly.  Next, 
Grout  became  known  outside  the  laboratory ;  many  inter- 
esting and  important  discoveries  were  made  by  Grout; 
then  Grout  became  too  big  a  man  to  be  any  longer  Dr. 
Linister's  Assistant ;  he  had  his  own  laboratory ;  Grout 
entered  upon  his  own  field  of  research.  This  was  a  prac- 
tical field,  and  one  in  which  he  quickly  surpassed  all 
others. 

Remember  that  Dr.  Linister  never  claimed,  or  looked 
for,  gratitude.  He  was  much  too  wise  a  man.  On  all 
occasions,  when  it  was  becoming  in  him,  he  spoke  in  the 
highest  terms  of  his  former  Assistant's  scientific  achieve- 
ments. 

There  was,  in  fact,  no  question  of  Gratitude  at  all. 

As  for  personal  friendship,  the  association  of  years,  the 
bond  of  union,  or  work  in  common  —  these  are  mere 
phrases,  the  worn-out  old  phrases  of  the  vanished  Past. 
Besides,  there  never  was  any  personal  friendship.  Quite 
the  contrary.  Dr.  Linister  was  never  able  to  forget  that 
in  the  old  time  I  had  been  the  servant  and  he  the  master. 
Where  equality  has  been  so  long  established,  the  continual 
reminder  of  former  inequality  is  galling. 

Dr.  Linister,  indeed,  was  always  antipathetic  from  the 
beginning.     Except  over  a  research,  we  could  have  noth- 


THE  ARCH   PHYSICIAN.  103 

iiig  in  common.  In  the  old  days  he  was  what  they  called 
a  gentleman  ;  he  was  also  a  scholar ;  he  used  to  play  music 
and  write  verses;  he  would  act  and  dance  and  sing,  and  do 
all  kinds  of  things ;  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  always 
wanted  to  do  everything  that  other  men  can  do,  and  to  do 
it  as  well  as  other  men  could  do  it.  So  that,  though  he 
was  a  great  scientific  worker,  he  spent  half  his  day  at  his 
club,  or  at  his  sports,  or  in  Society  ;  that  is  to  say,  with  the 
women — and  mostly,  I  think,  among  the  games  and  amuse- 
ments of  the  women.  There  was  every  day,  I  remember, 
a  great  running  to  and  fro  of  page-boys  with  notes  from 
them ;  and  he  was  always  ready  to  leave  any,  even  the 
most  important  work,  just  to  run  after  a  woman's  caprice. 

As  for  me,  I  never  had  any  school  education  at  all ;  I 
never  had  anything  to  do  with  Society ;  the  sight  of  a 
woman  always  filled  me  with  contempt  for  the  man  who 
could  waste  time  in  running  after  a  creature  who  knew 
no  science,  never  cared  for  any,  and  was  so  wont  to  dis- 
figure her  natural  figure  by  the  way  she  crowded  on  her 
misshapen  clothes  that  no  one  could  guess  what  it  was  like 
beneath  them.  As  for  music^  art,  and  the  rest  of  it,  I 
never  asked  so  much  as  what  they  meant ;  after  I  began 
to  make  ray  way,  I  had  the  laboratory  for  work,  play, 
and  all. 

When,  again,  it  came  to  the  time  when  the  Property 
(juestion  became  acute,  and  we  attempted  to  solve  it  by  a 
Civil  War,  although  Dr.  Linister  adhered  to  his  determi- 
nation not  to  leave  his  laboratory,  his  sympathies  were  al- 
ways with  individualism.  Xay,  he  never  disguised  his 
opinion,  but  was  accustomed  regularly  to  set  it  forth  at 
our  Council  meetings  in  the  House  of  Life — that  the  abo- 
lition of  property  and  the  establishment  of  the  perfect 
Socialism  were  the  greatest  blows  ever  inflicted  upon  civ- 
ilization.    It  is  not,  however,  civilization  which  the  Col- 


104  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

lege  advances,  but  Science  —  which  is  a  very  different 
thing — and  the  Scientific  End  of  Humanity.  The  gradual 
extinction  of  all  the  emotions — love,  jealousy,  ambition, 
rivalry — Dr.  Linister  maintained,  made  life  so  poor  a  thing 
that  painless  extinction  would  be  the  very  best  thing  pos- 
sible for  the  whole  race.  It  is  useless  to  point  out,  to  one 
so  prejudiced,  the  enormous  advantage  gained  in  securing 
constant  tranquillity  of  mind.  He  was  even,  sometimes, 
an  advocate  for  the  revival  of  fighting — fighting,  the  old 
barbarous  way  of  settling  disputes,  in  which  lives  were 
thrown  away  by  thousands  on  a  single  field.  Nor  would 
he  ever  agree  with  the  majority  of  the  House  that  the 
only  End  of  Humanity  is  mere  existence,  at  which  Science 
should  always  aim,  prolonged  without  exertion,  thought, 
care,  or  emotion  of  any  kind. 

In  fact,  according  to  the  contention  of  my  followers 
and  myself,  the  Triumph  of  Science  is  as  follows :  The 
Philosopher  finds  a  creature,  extremely  short-lived  at  the 
best,  liable  to  every  kind  of  disease  and  suffering  from  ex- 
ternal causes,  torn  to  pieces  from  within  by  all  kinds  of 
conflicting  emotions;  a  creature  most  eager  and  insatiate 
of  appetite,  fiery  and  impetuous,  quarrelsome  and  mur- 
derous, most  difiicult  to  drive  or  lead,  guided  only  by  its 
own  selfish  desires,  tormented  by  intellectual  doubts  and 
questions  which  can  never  be  answered.  The  Philosopher 
works  upon  this  creature  until  he  has  moulded  it  into  an- 
other so  different  that  no  one  would  perceive  any  like- 
ness to  the  original  creature.  The  new  creature  is  immor- 
tal ;  it  is  free  from  disease  or  the  possibility  of  disease ; 
it  has  no  emotions,  no  desires,  and  no  intellectual  restless- 
ness.    It  breathes,  eats,  sleeps. 

Such  is  my  idea  of  Science  Triumphant.  It  was  never 
Dr.  Linister's. 

In  manners,  the  Arch  Physician  preserved  the  old  man- 


THE   ARCH    PHYSICIAN".  105 

ners  of  courtesy  and  deference  which  were  the  fashion 
when  he  was  brought  up.  His  special  work  had  been  for 
many  years  the  study  of  the  so-called  incurable  diseases, 
such  as  asthma,  gout,  rheumatism,  and  so  forth.  For 
my  own  part,  ray  mind,  since  I  became  Suffragan,  has 
always  been  occupied  with  Administration,  having  stead- 
ily in  view  the  Triumph  of  Science.  I  have,  with  this  in- 
tention, made  the  Social  Equality  real  and  complete  from 
every  point;  I  have  also  endeavored  to  simplify  labor,  to 
enlarge  the  production  and  the  distribution  of  food  by 
mechanical  means,  and  thus  to  decrease  the  necessity  for 
thought,  contrivance,  and  the  exercise  of  ingenuity.  Most 
of  our  work  is  so  subdivided  that  no  one  understands  more 
than  the  little  part  of  it  which  occupies  him  for  four  hours 
every  day.  Workmen  who  know  the  whole  process  are 
impossible.  They  ask,  they  inquire,  they  want  to  im- 
prove ;  when  their  daily  task  is  but  a  bit  of  mechanical 
drudgery,  they  do  it  without  thought  and  they  come  away. 
Since  labor  is  necessary,  let  it  be  as  mechanical  as  possible, 
so  that  the  head  may  not  be  in  the  least  concerned  with 
the  work  of  the  hand.  In  this — my  view  of  things — the 
Arch  Physician  could  never  be  brought  to  acquiesce. 
Had  he  been  able  to  have  his  own  way,  the  whole  of  my 
magnificent  scheme  would  have  been  long  ago  destroyed 
and  rendered  impossible.  I  suppose  it  was  this  impossi- 
bility of  having  his  own  way  which  afflicted  him  with  so 
profound  a  melanclioly.  His  face  was  always  sad,  because 
lie  could  never  reconcile  himself  to  the  doctrine  of  human 
equality,  without  which  the  Perfection  of  Man  is  impos- 
sible. 

It  will  be  seen,  in  short,  that  the  Arch  Physician  and 
myself  held  hardly  a  single  view  in  common.  But  he  had 
been  elected  to  his  post,  and  I  to  mine.  We  shared  be- 
tween us  the  Great  Secret ;  and  if  my  views  prevailed  in 


106  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

our  Council,  it  was  due  either  to  my  own  power  of  im- 
pressing my  views  upon  my  colleagues,  or  to  the  truth 
and  justice  of  those  views. 

But  as  to  gratitude,  there  was  no  room  or  cause  for 
any. 

As,  then.  Dr.  Linister  walked  to  and  fro  upon  the  open 
space  outside  the  Picture  Gallery,  his  hands  behind  him, 
his  head  hanging,  and  his  thoughts  I  know  not  where,  he 
became  conscious  of  something  that  was  out  of  the  usual 
order.  When  one  lives  as  we  live,  one  day  following 
another,  each  like  the  one  which  went  before,  little  de- 
partures from  the  accustomed  order  disturb  the  mind. 
For  many,  many  years  the  Doctor  had  not  given  a  thought 
to  the  Picture  Gallery  or  to  the  door.  Yet,  because  it 
stood  open,  and  he  had  been  accustomed  to  see  it  closed, 
he  was  disturbed,  and  presently  lifted  his  head  and  discov- 
ered the  cause. 

The  door  stood  open.  "Why  ?  What  was  the  door  ? 
Then  he  remembered  what  it  was,  and  whither  it  led.  It 
opened  into  the  ancient  Picture  Gallery,  the  very  exist- 
ence of  which  he  had  forgotten,  though  every  day  he  saw 
the  door  and  the  building  itself.  The  Picture  Gallery ! 
It  was  full  of  the  pictures  painted  in  the  last  few  years 
before  the  Great  Discovery ;  that  is  to  say,  it  was  full  of 
the  life  which  he  had  long  ago  lived — nay,  he  lived  it  still. 
As  he  stood  hesitating  without  the  door,  that  life  came 
back  to  him  with  a  strange  yearning  and  sinking  of  the 
heart.  He  had  never,  you  see,  ceased  to  regret  it,  nor  had 
lie  ever  forgotten  it.  And  now  he  was  tempted  to  look 
upon  it  again.  As  well  might  a  monk  in  the  old  times 
look  upon  a  picture  of  fair  women  years  after  he  had  for- 
sworn love. 

He  hesitated,  his  knees  trembling,  for  merely  thinking 


THE  ARCH   PHYSICIAN.  107 

what  was  within.  Then  he  yielded  to  the  temptation, 
and  went  into  the  Gallery. 

The  morning  sun  streamed  through  the  window  and 
lay  upon  the  floor;  the  motes  danced  in  the  sunshine; 
the  Gallery  was  quite  empty;  but  on  the  walls  hung,  one 
above  the  other,  live  or  six  in  each  row,  the  pictures  of 
the  Past.  In  some  the  pigments  were  faded;  crimson 
was  pale-pink ;  green  was  gray ;  red  was  brown  ;  but  the 
ligures  were  there,  and  the  Life  which  he  had  lost  once 
more  flashed  upon  his  brain.  He  saw  the  women  whom 
once  he  had  loved  so  much ;  they  were  lying  on  soft 
couches,  gazing  upon  him  with  eyes  which  made  his  heart 
to  beat  and  his  whole  frame  to  tremble ;  they  were  dan- 
cing ;  they  were  in  boats,  dressed  in  dainty  summer  cos- 
tume; they  were  playing  lawn-tennis;  they  were  in  draw- 
ing-rooms, on  horseback,  on  lawns,  in  gardens ;  they  were 
being  wooed  by  their  lovers.  What  more  ?  They  were 
painted  in  fancy  costumes,  ancient  costumes,  and  even 
with  no  costume  at  all.  And  the  more  he  looked,  the 
more  his  cheek  glowed  and  his  heart  beat.  Where  had 
they  gone^-the  women  of  his  youth  ? 

Suddenly  he  heard  the  tinkling  of  a  musical  instru- 
ment. It  was  a  thing  they  used  to  call  a  zither.  He 
started,  as  one  awakened  out  of  a  dream.  Then  he  heard 
a  voice  singing ;  and  it  sang  the  same  song  he  had  heard 
that  night  five  or  six  weeks  aijo — his  own  sonjr: 


'to* 


"  The  girls  they  laugh,  the  girls  they  cry, 

'What  shall  their  guerdon  be? — 
Alas!  that  some  must  fall  and  die! — 

Bring  forth  our  gauds  to  see. 
'Twere  all  too  slight,  give  what  we  might.' 

Up  spoke  a  soldier  tall : 
'Oh!  Love  is  worth  the  whole  broad  earth; 
Oh!   Love  is  worth  the  whole  broad  earth; 

Give  that,  you  give  us  all!"  " 


108  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

This  time,  however,  it  was  another  voice — a  fuller  and 
richer  voice — which  sang  those  words. 

Dr.  Linister  started  again  when  the  voice  began.  He 
changed  color,  and  his  cheek  grew  pale. 

"  Heavens !"  he  murmured.  "  Are  there  phantoms  in 
the  air?  What  does  it  mean?  This  is  the  second  time 
— my  own  song — the  foolish  old  song — my  own  air — the 
foolish,  tinkling  air  that  they  used  to  like !  And  the  voice 
— I  remember  the  voice — whose  voice  is  it  ?  I  remember 
the  voice — whose  voice  is  it  ?" 

He  looked  round  him  again,  at  the  pictures,  as  if  to 
find  among  them  the  face  he  sought.  The  pictures 
showed  all  the  life  of  the  Past;  the  ball-room  with  the 
dancers ;  the  sports  of  the  field ;  the  drive  in  the  after- 
noon, the  ride  in  the  morning ;  the  bevy  of  girls ;  the  sol- 
diers and  the  sailors;  the  streets  crowded  with  people; 
the  vile  slums  and  the  picturesque  blackguardism  of  the 
City — but  not  the  face  he  wanted.  Then  he  left  off  look- 
ing for  the  singer,  and  began  to  think  of  the  faces  before 
him. 

"  On  every  face,"  he  said,  "  there  is  unsatisfied  desire. 
Yet  they  are  the  happier  for  that  very  dissatisfaction. 
Yes — they  are  the  happier."  He  paused  before  a  painted 
group  of  street  children ;  some  were  playing  over  the  gut- 
ter; some  were  sitting  on  door-steps,  carrying  babies  as 
big  as  themselves ;  one  was  sucking  a  piece  of  orange- 
peel  picked  up  on  the  pavement;  one  was  gnawing  a 
crust.  They  were  all  ragged  and  half  starved.  "  Yet," 
said  the  Arch  Physician,  "they  are  happy.  But  we  have 
no  children  now.  In  those  days  they  could  paint  and 
(iraw  —  and  we  have  lost  the  Art.  Great  heavens!"  he 
cried,  impatiently,  "  we  have  lost  every  Art.  Cruel ! 
cruel!"  Then  from  within  there  broke  upon  his  ears  a 
strain  of  music.     It  was  so  long  since  he  had  heard  any 


THE   ARCH   PHYSICIAN.  109 

music  that  at  first  it  took  away  his  breath.  Wonderful 
that  a  mere  sound  such  as  that  of  music  should  produce 
such  an  effect  upon  a  man  of  science !  "  Oh,"  he  sighed, 
heavily,  "  we  have  even  thrown  away  that !  Yet — where 
— where  does  the  music  come  from  ?     Who  plays  it  ?" 

While  he  listened,  carried  away  by  the  pictures  and  by 
the  music  and  by  his  own  thoughts  to  the  Past,  his  mind 
full  of  the  Past,  it  did  not  surprise  him  in  the  least  that 
there  came  out  from  the  door  between  the  Gallery  and 
the  Museum  a  young  lady  belonging  absolutely  to  the 
Past.  There  was  no  touch  of  the  Present  about  her  at 
all.  She  did  not  wear  the  regulation  dress ;  she  did  not 
wear  the  flat  cap. 

"It  is,"  said  Dr.  Linister,  "the  Face  that  belongs  to  the 
Voice.  I  know  it  now.  Where  did  I  see  it  last?  To 
whom  does  it  belong  ?" 

She  stood  for  a  few  moments  in  the  sunshine.  Behind 
her  was  a  great  picture  all  crimson  and  purple,  a  mass  of 
flaming  color,  before  which  her  tall  and  slight  figure, 
dressed  in  a  delicate  stuff  of  soft  creamy  color,  stood 
clearly  outlined.  The  front  of  the  dress  —  at  least  that 
part  which  covered  the  throat  to  the  waist — was  of  some 
warmer  color ;  there  were  flowers  at  her  left  shoulder ; 
her  hair  was  braided  tightly  round  her  head ;  round  her 
neck  was  a  ribbon  with  something  hanging  from  it;  she 
wore  brown  gloves,  and  carried  a  straw  hat  dangling  in 
her  hand.  It  was,  perhaps,  the  sunshine  which  made  her 
eyes  so  bright,  her  cheek  so  glowing,  her  rosy  lips  so 
quivering. 

She  stood  there,  looking  straight  down  the  Hall,  as  if 
she  saw  no  one. 

Dr.  Linister  gazed  and  turned  pale ;  his  cheeks  were  so 
white  that  you  might  have  tliought  him  about  to  faint; 
he  reeled  and  trembled. 


110  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

"  Good  God  !"  he  murmured,  falling  back  upon  the 
interjection  of  the  Past,  "  we  have  lost  the  Beauty  of 
women!  Oh,  Fools!  Fools!  We  have  thrown  all  away 
— all — and  for  what?" 

Then  the  girl  came  swiftly  down  the  Hall  towards  him, 
A  smile  of  welcome  was  on  her  lips;  a  blush  upon  her 
cheek ;  her  eyes  looked  up  and  dropped  again,  and  again 
looked  up  and  once  more  dropped. 

Then  she  stopped  before  him  and  held  out  both  her 
hands. 

"Harry  Linister!"  she  cried,  as  if  surprised,  and  with 
a  little  laugh,  "how  long  is  it  since  last  we  met?" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  FIDELITY  OF  JOHN  LAX. 

That  morning,  while  I  was  in  my  private  laboratory, 
idly  turning  over  certain  Notes  on  experiments  conducted 
for  the  artificial  manufacture  of  food,  I  was  interrupted 
by  a  knock  at  the  door. 

My  visitor  was  the  Porter  of  the  House  of  Life,  our 
most  trusted  servant,  John  Lax.  His  duty  it  was  to  sleep 
in  the  House — his  chamber  being  that  ancient  room  over 
the  South  Porch — to  inspect  the  furnaces  and  laboratories 
after  the  work  of  the  day  was  closed,  and  at  all  times  to 
keep  an  eye  upon  the  Fabric  itself,  so  that  it  should  in 
no  way  fall  out  of  repair.  His 'orders  were  also  to  kill 
any  strangers  who  might  try  to  force  their  way  into  the 
House  on  any  pretence  whatever. 

He  was  a  stout,  sturdy  fellow,  vigorous  and  strong, 
though  the  Great  Discovery  had  found  him  nearly  forty 
years  of  age;  his  hair,  though  it  had  gone  bald  on  the 


THE  FIDELITY   OF  JOHN'    LAX.  Ill 

top,  was  still  thick  on  the  sides,  and  gave  him  a  terrifv- 
ir\g  appearance  under  his  cap  of  scarlet  and  gold.  He 
carried  a  great  halberd  as  a  wand  of  oflBce,  and  his  coat 
and  cap  matched  each  other  for  color  and  for  gold  em- 
broidery. Save  as  representing  the  authority  of  the  House 
and  College,  I  would  never  have  allowed  such  a  splendid 
appearance  to  any  one. 

"  What  have  you  come  to  tell  me,  John  ("  I  asked. 

I  may  explain  that  I  had  always  found  John  Lax  useful 
in  keeping  me  informed  as  to  the  internal  condition  of 
the  College  and  its  Assistants — what  was  said  and  debated 
— what  opinions  were  advanced,  by  what  men,  and  so 
forth. 

"  In  the  College  itself.  Suffragan,"  he  said,  "and  in  the 
House,  things  are  mighty  dull  and  quiet.  Blessed  if  a 
little  Discontent  or  a  Mutiny,  or  something,  wouldn't  be 
worth  having,  just  to  shake  up  the  lot.  There's  not  even 
a  grumbler  left.  A  little  rising  and  a  few  heads  broken, 
and  we  should  settle  down  again,  qaiet  and  contented 
again.-' 

"  Don't  talk  like  a  fool,  John." 

"  "Well,  Suffragan,  you  like  to  hear  all  that  goes  on.  I 
wonder  what  you'll  say  to  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you  now  ?'' 

''  Go  on,  John.     "What  is  it  ?" 

"  It's  irregular,  Suffragan,  but  your  Honor  is  above  the 
Law;  and,  before  beginning  a  long  story — mind  you,  a 
most  important  story  it  is — " 

"  What  is  it  about  ?     Who's  in  it  V' 

"  Lots  of  the  People  are  in  it.  They  don't  count.  He's 
in  it  now — come  !" 

"He?" 

John  Lax  had  pointed  over  his  shoulder  so  clearly  in 
the  direction  of  the  Arch  Physician's  residence  that  I 
could  not  but  understand.     Yet  I  pretended. 


112  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

"He,  John?     Who  is  he?" 

"The  Arch  Physician  is  in  it.  There!  Now,  Suffragan, 
bring  out  that  bottle  and  a  glass,  and  I  can  then  tell  you 
the  story,  without  fear  of  ill  consequences  to  my  throat 
that  was  once  delicate." 

I  gave  him  the  bottle  and  a  glass,  and,  after  drink- 
ing a  tumblerful  of  whiskey  (forbidden  to  the  People) 
he  began. 

Certain  reasons,  he  said,  had  made  him  suspicious  as  to 
what  went  on  at  night  in  the  Museum  during  the  last  few 
weeks.  The  lights  were  up  until  late  at  night.  Once  he 
tried  the  doors,  and  found  that  they  were  locked.  He 
heard  the  playing  of  music  within,  and  the  sound  of  many 
voices. 

Now,  there  is,  as  I  told  John  Lax  at  this  point,  no  law 
against  the  assemblage  of  the  People,  nor  against  their 
sitting  up,  or  singing  and  playing  together.  I  had,  to 
be  sure,  hoped  that  they  had  long  ceased  to  desire  to 
meet  together,  and  had  quite  forgotten  how  to  make 
music. 

He  remembered,  John  Lax  went  on  to  say,  that  there 
was  a  door  leading  into  the  Picture  Gallery  from  the  Col- 
lege Garden — a  door  of  which  he  held  the  key. 

He  opened  this  door  quietly,  and  then,  night  after 
night,  he  crept  into  the  Picture  Gallery,  and  watched 
what  went  on  through  the  door,  which  opened  upon  the 
Museum.  He  had  found,  in  fact,  a  place  close  by  the 
door,  where,  hidden  behind  a  group  of  statuary,  he  could 
watch  and  listen  in  almost  perfect  security. 

I  then  heard,  to  my  amazement,  how  a  small  company 
of  the  People  were  every  night  carrying  on  a  revival  of 
the  Past ;  not  with  the  laudable  intention  of  disgusting 
themselves  with  the  horrors  of  that  time,  but  exactly  the 
contrary.     It  was  only  the  pleasant  side  of  that  time — the 


THE   FIDELITY    OF   JOHN    LAX.  113 

evening  life  of  the  rich  and  careless— which  these  foolish 
persons  reproduced. 

They  had,  in  fact,  gone  so  far,  John  Lax  told  me,  as  to 
fall  in  love  with  that  time,  to  deride  the  Present,  and  to 
pour  abuse  upon  my  name— mine— as  the  supposed  chief 
author  of  the  Social  Equality.     This  was  very  well  for  a 
beginning.     This  was  a  startling  awakener  out  of  a  Fool's 
Paradise.     True,  the  company  was  small ;  they  might  be 
easily  dispersed  or  isolated ;  means  might  be  found  to  ter- 
rify them  into  submission.     Yet  it  gave  me  a  rude  shock. 
^  "  I've  had  my  suspicions,"  John  Lax  continued,  "  ever 
since  one  morning  when  L  looked  into  the  Museum  and 
see  that  young  gal  dressed  up  and  carrying  on  before  the 
looking-glass,  more  like— well,  more  like  an  actress  at  the 
Pav,  as  they  used  to  make  'cm,  than  like  a  decent  woman. 
But   now  there's   more."      He   stopped  and  whispered, 
hoarsely,  "  Suffragan,  I've  just  come  from   a  little  turn 
about  the  Garden.      Outside  the  Picture  Gallery,  where 
there's  a  bit  o'  turf  and  a  lot  of  trees  all  standin'  around, 
there's  a  very  curious  sight  to  see  this  minute ;   and  if 
you'll  get  up  and  go  along  o'  me,  Suffragan,  you'll  be 
pleased— you  will,  indeed  — astonished  and  pleased  you 
will  be." 

I  obeyed.  I  arose  and  followed  this  zealous  servant. 
He  led  me  to  a  part  of  the  Garden  which  I  did  not 
know;  it  was  the  place  of  which  I  have  spoken.  Here, 
amid  a  great  thick  growth  of  underwood,  he  took  me  into 
the  ruins  of  an  old  garden  or  tool-house,  built  of  wood, 
but  the  planks  were  decaying  and  were  starting  apart. 

"Stand  there,  and  look  and  listen,"  whispered  John 
Lax,  grinning. 

The  open  planks  commanded  a  view  of  a  semicircular 
lawn,  where  the  neglected  grass  had  grown  thick  and 
rank.     Almost  under  my  eyes  there  was  sitting  upon  a 


114  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

fallen  trunk  a  woman,  fantastically  dressed — against  the 
Rules — and  at  her  feet  lay  none  other  than  the  Arch  Phy- 
sician himself !  Then,  indeed,  I  pricked  up  my  ears  and 
listened  with  all  my  might. 

"  Are  we  dreaming,  Mildred  V  he  murmured.  "  Are 
we  dreaming  ?" 

"  No,  Harry ;  we  have  all  been  dreaming  for  a  long, 
long  time — never  mind  how  long.  Just  now  we  are  not 
dreaming,  we  are  truly  awake.  You  are  ray  old  playfel- 
low, and  I  am  your  old  sweetheart,"  she  said,  with  a  little 
blush.  "  Tell  me  what  you  are  doing — always  in  your 
laboratory.  I  suppose,  always  finding  some  new  secrets. 
Does  it  make  you  any  happier,  Harry,  to  be  always  find- 
ing something  new  ?" 

"  It  is  the  only  thing  that  makes  life  endurable — to  dis- 
cover the  secrets  of  Nature.  For  what  other  purpose  do 
we  live  ?" 

"  Then,  Harry,  for  what  purpose  do  the  rest  of  us  live, 
who  do  not  investigate  those  secrets?  Can  women  be 
happy  in  no  other  way  ?  We  do  not  prosecute  any  kind 
of  research,  you  know." 

"  Happy  ?  Are  we  in  the  Present  or  the  Past,  Mil- 
dred?" 

He  looked  about  him,  as  if  expecting  to  see3the  figures 
of  the  Pictures  in  the  Gallery  walking  about  upon  the 
grass. 

"  Just  now,  Harry,  we  are  in  the  Past.  We  are  back 
— we  two  together — in  the  glorious  and  beautiful  Past, 
where  everything  was  delightful.  Outside  this  place 
there  is  the  horrible  Present.  You  have  made  the  Present 
for  us,  and  therefore  you  ought  to  know  what  it  is.  Let 
me  look  at  you,  Harry.  Why,  the  old  look  is  coming 
back  to  your  eyes.  Take  o2  that  black  gown,  Harry,  and 
throw  it  away,  while  you  are  with  me.     So.     You  are 


THE  FIDELITY  OF  JOHN  LAX.  115 

now  my  old  friend  again,  and  wc  can  talk.  You  arc  no 
longer  the  President  of  the  Holy  College,  the  terrible  and 
venerable  Arch  Physician,  the  Guardian  of  the  House  of 
Life.  You  are  plain  Harry  Linister  again.  Tell  me,  then, 
Harry,  are  you  happy  in  this  beautiful  Present  that  you 
have  made?" 

"  No,  Mildred ;  I  am  never  happy." 

"Then  why  not  unmake  the  Present?  Why  not  re- 
turn to  the  Past  ?" 

"It  is  impossible.  "We  might  go  back  to  the  Past" for 
a  little ;  but  it  would  become  intolerable  again,  as  it  did 
before.  Formerly  there  was  no  time  for  any  of  the  fleet- 
ing things  of  life  to  lose  their  rapture.  All  things  were 
enjoyed  for  a  moment,  and  then  vanished.  ]^ow " — he 
sighed  wearily — "they  last — they  last.  So  that  there  is 
nothing  left  for  us  but  the  finding  of  new  secrets.  And 
for  you,  Mildred  ?" 

"I  have  been  in  a  dream,"  she  replied.  "Oh, a  long, 
long  nightmare,  that  has  never  left  me,  day  or  night.  I 
don't  know  how  long  it  has  lasted.  But  it  has  lifted  at 
last,  thank  God  !" 

The  Arch  Physician  started  and  looked  astonished. 

"  It  seems  a  long  time,"  he  said,  "  since  I  heard  those 
words.     I  thought  we  had  forgotten — " 

"It  was  a  dream  of  no  change,  day  after  day.  Noth- 
ing happened.  In  the  morning  we  worked  ;  in  the  after- 
noon we  rested ;  in  the  evening  we  took  food  ;  at  night 
we  slept.  And  the  mind  was  dead.  There  were  no 
books  to  read;  there  was  nothing  to  talk  about;  there 
was  nothing  to  hope.  Always  the  same  work — a  piece 
of  work  that  nobody  cared  to  do  —  a  mechanical  piece 
of  work.  Always  the  same  dress  —  the  same  hideous, 
horrible  dress.  We  were  all  alike ;  there  was  nothing 
at  all  to  distinguish  us.     The  Past  seemed  forgotten." 


116  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

"Nothing  can  be  ever  forgotten,"  said  Dr.  Linister; 
"  but  it  may  be  put  away  for  a  time." 

"  Oh,  when  I  think  of  all  that  we  had  forgotten,  it 
seems  terrible !  Yet  we  lived — how  could  we  live  ? — it 
was  not  life.  No  thought,  no  care,  about  anything. 
Every  one  centred  in  himself,  careless  of  his  neighbor. 
Why,  I  did  not  know  so  much  as  the  occupants  of  the 
rooms  next  to  my  own.  Men  looked  on  women,  and 
women  on  men,  without  thought  or  emotion.  Love  was 
dead — Life  was  Death  ?  Harry,  it  was  a  most  dreadful 
dream.  And  in  the  night  there  used  to  come  a  terrible 
nio^htmare  of  nothin<yness !  It  was  as  if  I  floated  alone  in 
ether,  far  from  the  world  or  life,  and  could  find  nothing 
— nothing — for  the  mind  to  grasp  or  think  of.  And  I 
woke  at  the  point  of  madness.  A  dreadful  dream  !  And 
yet  we  lived.  Rather  than  go  back  to  that  most  terrible 
dream,  I  would — I  would — " 

She  clasped  her  forehead  with  her  hand  and  looked 
about  her  with  haggard  eyes. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Dr.  Linister ;  "  I  ought  to  have  guessed 
your  sufferings — by  my  own.  Yet  I  have  had  my  labor- 
atory." 

"  Then  I  was  shaken  out  of  the  dream  by  a  girl — by 
Christine.  And  now  we  are  resolved — some  of  us — at  all 
costs  and  hazards — yes,  even  if  we  are  debarred  from  the 
Great  Discovery — to — live — again — to  live — again  !"  she 
repeated,  slowly.  "Do  you  know,  Harry,  what  that 
means  ?  To  go  back — to  live  again  !  Only  think  what 
that  means." 

He  was  silent. 

"  Have  you  forgotten,  Harry,"  she  asked,  softly,  "  what 
that  means  ?" 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  remember  everything;  but  I  am 
trying  to  understand.      The  accursed  Present  is  around 


THE   FIDELITY   OF   JOHN   LAX.  '117 

and  above  me,  like  a  horrible  black  Fog.  How  can  we 
lift  it?     How  can  we  live  again?" 

"Some  of  us  have  found  out  a  way.  In  the  morning 
we  put  on  the  odious  uniform,  and  do  our  allotted  task 
among  the  poor  wretches  who  are  still  in  that  bad  dream 
of  never-ending  monotony.  We  sit  among  them,  silent 
ourselves,  trying  to  disguise  the  new  light  that  has  come 
back  to  our  eyes,  in  the  Public  Hall.  In  the  evening  we 
come  here,  put  on  the  old  dresses,  and  live  the  old  life." 

"It  is  wonderful,"  he  said.  "I  knew  all  along  that 
human  nature  would  one  day  assert  itself  again.  I  told 
Grout  so.     He  has  always  been  quite  wrong !" 

"Grout!  What  does  Grout  know  of  civilized  life? 
Grout !  Why,  he  was  your  own  bottle  -  washer — a  com- 
mon servant.  He  thought  it  was  justice  to  reduce  every- 
body to  his  own  level,  and  happiness  for  them  to  remain 
there !  Grout !  Why,  he  has  only  one  idea — to  make  us 
mere  machines.  Oh,  Harry !"  she  said,  reproach  in  her 
eyes,  "you  are  Arch  Physician,  and  you  cannot  alter 
things !" 

"  No ;  I  have  the  majority  of  the  College  against  me." 

"  Am  I  looking  well,  Harry,  after  all  these  years  ?" 

She  suddenly  changed  her  voice  and  manner  and 
laughed,  and  turned  her  face  to  meet  his.  Witch  !  Abom- 
inable Witch ! 

"  Well,  Mildred,  was  it  yesterday  that  I  loved  you  ? 
Was  the  Great  Discovery  made  only  yesterday?  Oli, 
you  look  lovelier  than  ever !" 

"  Lovely  means  worthy  of  love,  Harry.  But  you  have 
killed  love." 

"No,  no.  Love  died.  We  did  not  kill  love.  Why 
did  the  men  cease  to  love  the  women  ?  Was  it  that  they 
saw  them  every  day,  and  so  grew  tired  of  them  ?" 

"Perhaps  it  was  because  you  took  from  us  the  things 


118  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

that  might  have  kept  love  alive;  music,  art,  literature, 
grace,  culture,  society — everything." 

"  We  did  not  take  them.     They  died." 

"  And  then  you  dressed  us  all  alike,  in  the  most  hideous 
costume  ever  invented." 

"  It  was  Grout's  dress." 

"  What  is  the  good  of  being  Arch  Physician  if  one  can- 
not have  his  own  way  ?" 

Harry  sighed. 

"  My  place  is  in  the  laboratory,"  he  said.  "  I  experi- 
ment, and  I  discover.  The  Suffragan  administers.  It 
has  always  been  the  rule.  Yet  you  live  again,  Mildred. 
Tell  me  more.  I  do  not  understand  how  you  contrive  to 
live  again." 

"  We  have  a  little  company  of  twenty  or  thirty,  who 
meet  together  in  the  evening  after  the  dinner  is  over. 
No  one  else  ever  comes  to  the  Museum.  As  soon  as  it 
is  dark,  you  know  very  well,  the  People  all  creep  home 
and  go  to  bed ;  but  my  friends  come  here.  It  was  Chris- 
tine who  began  it.  She  found  or  made  the  dresses  for 
us ;  she  beguiled  us  into  forgetting  the  Present  and  going 
back  to  the  Past.  Now  we  have  succeeded  in  caring 
nothing  at  all  about  the  Present.  We  began  by  pretend- 
ing. It  is  no  longer  pretence.  The  Past  lives  again,  and 
we  hate  the  Present.     Oh,  we  hate  and  loathe  it !" 

"  Yes,  yes.     But  how  do  you  revive  the  Past  ?" 

"  We  have  dances.  You  used  to  dance  very  well  for- 
merly, my  dear  Harry.  That  was  before  you  walked 
every  day  in  a  grand  Procession,  and  took  the  highest 
place  in  the  Public  Hall.  I  wonder  if  you  could  dance 
again  ?  Nature's  secrets  are  not  so  heavy  that  they  would 
clog  your  feet,  are  they  ?  We  sing  and  play :  the  old 
music  has  been  found,  and  we  are  beginning  to  play  it 
properly  again.     We    talk ;    we   act  little  drawing-room 


THE   FIDELITY   OF  JOHX  LAX.  119 

plays;  sometimes  we  draw  or  paint;  and — oh,  Harrj  ! 

the  men  have  begun  again  to  make  Love— real,  ardent 
Love !  All  the  dear  old  passions  are  reviving.  We  are 
always  finding  other  poor  creatures  like  ourselves,  who 
were  once  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  now  are  aimless  and 
soulless ;  and  we  recruit  them." 

"  What  will  Grout  say  when  he  finds  it  out?" 
"  lie  can  never  make  us  go  back  to  the  Present  again. 
So  far,  I  defy  Grout,  Harry." 
The  Arch  Physician  sighed. 

"  The  old  life !"  he  said ;  "  the  old  life  !  I  will  confess, 
Mildred,  that  I  have  never  forgotten  it — not  for  a  day ; 
and  I  have  never  ceased  to  regret  that  it  was  not  con- 
tinued." 

"Grout  pulled  it  to  pieces;  but  we  will  revive  it." 
"  If  it  could  be  revived  ;  but  that  is  impossible." 
"  Nothing  is  impossible  to  you— nothing — to  you.   Con- 
sider, Harry,"  she  whispered.     "  You  have  the  Secret." 
lie  started  and  changed  color. 
"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said ;  "  but  what  then  V 
"Come  and  see  the  old  life  revived.     Come  this  even- 
ing ;  come,  dear  Harry."     She  laid  a  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"  Come,  for  auld  lang  syne.     Can  the  old  emotions  revive 
again,  even  in  the  breast  of  the  Arch  Physician  ?" 

His  eyes  met  hers.  He  trembled— a  sure  sign  that  the 
old  spirit  was  reviving  in  him.  Then  he  spoke  in  a  kind 
of  murmur : 

"I  have  been  living  alone  so  long— so  long— that  I 
thought  there  was  nothing  left  but  solitude  forever. 
Grout  likes  it.  He  will  have  it  that  loneliness  belongs  to 
the  Higher  Life." 

"  Come  to  us,"  she  replied,  her  hand  still  on  his  arm, 
her  eyes  turned  so  as  to  look  into  his.  Ah,  shameless 
Witch!     "We  are  not  lonely;    we  talk;    we  exchancre 


120  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

looks  and  smiles.  We  have  begun  again  to  practise  the 
old  arts ;  we  have  begun  to  read  in  each  other's  souls. 
Old  thoughts  that  we  had  long  forgotten  are  pouring  back 
into  our  minds;  it  is  strange  to  find  them  there  again. 
Come,  Harry ;  forget  the  laboratory  for  a  while,  and  come 
with  us;  but  come  without  Grout.  The  mere  aspect  of 
Grout  would  cause  all  our  innocent  joys  to  take  flight  and 
vanish.  Come !  Be  no  more  the  Sacred  Head  of  the  Holy 
College,  but  my  dear  old  friend  and  companion,  Harry 
Linister,  who  might  have  been  but  for  the  Great  Dis- 
covery—  but  that  is  foolish.  Come,  Harry;  come  this 
eveninsr." 


CHAPTER  VIH. 

THE    ARCH    TRAITOR. 


I  DISMISSED  John  Lax,  charging  him  with  the  most  pro- 
found secrecy.  I  knew,  and  had  known  for  a  long  time, 
that  this  man,  formerly  the  avowed  enemy  of  aristocrats, 
nourished  an  extraordinary  hatred  for  the  Arch  Physician, 
and  therefore  I  was  certain  that  he  would  keep  silence. 

I  resolved  that  I  would  myself  keep  a  watch,  and,  if 
possible,  be  present  at  the  meeting  of  this  evening.  What 
would  happen  I  knew  not,  nor  could  I  tell  what  to  do ; 
there  are  no  laws  in  our  community  to  prevent  such  meet- 
ings. If  the  Arch  Physician  chooses  to  attend  such  a 
play-acting,  how  is  he  to  be  prevented  ?  But  I  would  my- 
self watch.     You  shall  hear  how  I  was  rewarded. 

Dr.  Linister  was,  as  usual,  melancholy  and  preoccupied  at 
Supper.  He  said  nothing  of  what  he  intended.  As  for  me, 
I  looked  about  the  Hall  to  see  if  there  were  any  whom  I 
could  detect,  from  any  unnatural  restlessness,  as  members 
of  this  dangerous  company ;  but  I  could  see  none,  except 


THE   ARCH   TRAITOR.  1^1 

the  girl  Christine,  whose  vivacity  might  be  allowed  on 
the  score  of  youth.  The  face  of  John  Lax,  it  is  true,  as 
he  sat  at  the  lowest  place  of  our  table,  betokened  an  ill- 
suppressed  joy  and  an  eagerness  quite  interesting  to  one 
who  understood  the  meaning  of  these  emotions.  Poor 
John  Lax !  Never  again  shall  we  find  one  like  unto  him 
for  zeal  and  strength  and  courage. 

I  waited  until  half-past  nine  o'clock;  then  I  sallied 
forth. 

It  was  a  dark  night  and  still.  There  was  no  moon; 
the  sky  was  cloudy;  no  wind  was  in  the  air,  and  from 
time  to  time  there  were  low  rumblings  of  distant  thun- 
der. 

I  made  my  way  cautiously  and  noiselessly  through  the 
dark  Garden  to  the  entrance  of  the  Picture  Gallery,  which 
the  faithful  John  Lax  had  left  open  for  me.  I  ventured, 
with  every  precaution,  into  the  Gallery.  It  seemed  quite 
empty,  but  at  the  end  there  was  a  door  opening  into  the 
Museum,  which  poured  a  narrow  stream  of  light  straight 
down  the  middle  of  the  Gallery.  I  crept  along  the  dark 
wall,  and  presently  found  myself  at  the  end  close  to  this 
door.  And  here  I  came  upon  the  group  of  statuary  of 
which  John  Lax  had  told  me  where  I  could  crouch  and 
hide  in  perfect  safety,  unseen  myself,  yet  able  to  see 
everything  that  went  on  within. 

I  confess  that  even  the  revelations  of  John  Lax  had  not 
prepared  me  for  the  scene  which  met  my  eyes.  There 
were  thirty  or  forty  men  and  women  present ;  the  room 
was  lit  up;  there  were  flowers  in  vases  set  about;  there 
w^as  a  musical  instrument,  at  Avhich  one  sat  down  and 
sang.  When  she  had  finished,  everybody  began  to  laugh 
and  talk.  Then  another  sat  down  and  began  to  play,  and 
then  they  went  out  upon  the  floor  two  by  two,  in  pairs, 
and  began  to  twirl  round  like  teetotums.     As  for  their 


122  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

dresses,  I  never  saw  the  like ;  for  the  women  were  dressed 
in  frocks  of  silk  —  white,  pink,  cream-colored,  trimmed 
with  lace ;  with  jewels  on  their  arms  and  necks,  and  long 
white  gloves,  and  flowers  in  their  hair.  In  their  hands 
they  carried  fans,  and  their  dresses  were  low,  exposing 
their  necks,  and  so  much  of  their  arms  as  was  not  covered 
up  with  gloves.  And  they  looked  excited  and  eager.  The 
expression  which  I  had  striven  so  long  to  impart  to  their 
faces,  that  of  tranquillity,  was  gone.  The  old  unhappy 
eagerness,  with  flashing  eyes,  flushed  cheeks,  and  panting 
breath,  was  come  back  to  them  again.  Heavens !  what 
could  be  done?  As  for  the  men, they  wore  a  black-cloth 
dress — all  alike — why,  then,  did  they  dislike  the  regulation 
blue  flannel? — with  a  large  white  shirt-front  and  white 
ties  and  white  gloves.  And  they,  too,  were  full  of  the 
restless  eagerness  and  excitement.  So  difiierent  were  they 
all  from  the  men  and  women  Avhom  I  had  observed  day 
after  day  in  the  Public  Hall,  that  I  could  remember  not 
one  except  the  girl  Christine,  and — and — yes,  among  them 
there  was  none  other  than  the  Arch  Physician  himself, 
laughing,  talking,  dancing  among  the  rest. 

I  could  see  perfectly  well  through  the  open  door,  and  I 
was  quite  certain  that  no  one  could  see  me ;  but  I 
crouched  lower  behind  the  marble  group  when  they  be- 
gan to  come  out  two  by  two,  and  to  talk  together  in  the 
dark  Gallery. 

First  came  the  girl  Christine  and  the  sailor.  Jack  Ca- 
rera.  Him  at  all  events  I  remembered.  They  took  each 
other's  hands  and  began  to  kiss  each  other,  and  to  talk 
the  greatest  nonsense  imaginable.  No  one  would  ever 
believe  that  sane  people  could  possibly  talk  such  nonsense. 
Then  they  went  back  and  another  pair  came  out,  and 
went  on  in  the  same  ridiculous  fashion.  One  has  been  to 
a  Theatre  in  the  old  time  and  heard  a  couple  of  lovers 


THE   ARCH   TRAITOR.  123 

talking  nonsense  on  the  stage ;  but  never  on  any  stage 
did  I  ever  hear  such  false,  extravagant,  absurd  stuff  talked 
as  I  did  when  I  lay  hidden  behind  that  group  in  marble. 

Presently  I  listened  with  interest  renewed,  because  the 
pair  which  came  into  the  Gallery  was  none  other  than 
the  pair  I  had  that  morning  watched  in  the  Garden — the 
Arch  Physician  and  the  woman  he  called  Mildred,  though 
now  I  should  hardly  have  known  her,  because  she  was  so 
dressed  up  and  disguised.  She  looked,  indeed,  a  very 
splendid  creature;  not  in  the  least  like  a  plain  woman. 
And  this,  I  take  it,  was  what  these  would-be  great  ladies 
desired — not  to  be  taken  as  plain  women.  Yet  they  were, 
in  spite  of  their  fine  clothes,  plain  and  simple  women  just 
as  much  as  any  wench  of  Whitechapel  in  the  old  time. 

"  Harry,"  she  said,  "  I  thank  you  from  my  very  heart 
for  coming.     Xow  we  shall  have  hope." 

"  What  hope  ?"  he  replied,  "  what  hope  ?  What  can  I 
do  for  you  while  the  majority  of  the  College  continue  to 
side  with  Grout  ?     What  hope  can  I  bring  you  ?" 

"Never  mind  the  Majority.  Consider,  Harry.  Yon 
have  the  Great  Secret.  Let  us  all  go  away  together  and 
found  a  new  colony,  where  we  will  have  no  Grout ;  and 
we  will  live  our  own  lives.     Do  you  love  me,  Harry  ?" 

"  Love  you,  Mildred  ?  Oh  " — he  sighed  deeply — "  it  is 
a  stream  that  has  been  dammed  up  all  these  years !" 

"  What  keeps  us  here  ?"  asked  the  girl.  ''  It  is  that  in 
your  hands  lies  the  Great  Secret.  Our  people  would  be 
afraid  to  go  without  it.  If  we  have  it.  Jack  will  take  us 
to  some  island  that  he  knows  of  across  the  seas.  l>ut  we 
cannot  go  without  the  Secret.  You  shall  bring  it  with 
you." 

"  When  could  we  go  ?"  he  asked,  whispering. 

"We  could  go  at  any  time — in  a  day — in  a  week — 
when  you  please.     Oh,  Harry,  will  you  indeed  rescue  us? 


124  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

Will  you  come  with  us  ?  Some  of  us  are  resolved  to  go 
— Secret  or  not.  I  am  one  of  those.  Will  you  let  me 
go — alone  ?" 

"  Is  it  impossible,"  he  said,  "  that  you  should  go  with- 
out the  Secret  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said  ;  "  the  people  would  be  afraid.  But  oh, 
to  think  of  a  new  life,  where  we  shall  no  longer  be  all 
the  same,  but  different !  Every  one  shall  have  his  own 
possessions  again — whatever  he  can  win  ;  every  one  his 
own  profession  ;  the  women  shall  dress  as  they  please ;  we 
shall  have  Art — and  Music — and  Poetry  again.  And — 
oh,  Harry !" — she  leaned  her  head  upon  his  shoulder — 
"  we  shall  have  Love  again.  Oh,  to  think  of  it !  Oh,  to 
think  of  it !  Love  once  more !  And  with  Love,  think  of 
all  the  other  things  that  will  come  back.  They  must 
come  back,  Harry — the  old  Faith  which  formerly  made  us 
happy — "     Her  voice  choked,  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

I  crouched  behind  the  statues,  listening.  What  did 
she  cry  about?  The  old  Faith?  She  could  have  that  if 
she  wanted,  I  suppose,  without  crying  over  it.  No  law 
whatever  against  it. 

Dr.  Linister  said  nothing,  but  I  saw  that  he  was  shak- 
ing— actually  shaking — and  trembling  all  over.  A  most 
remarkable  person !  Who  would  have  believed  that 
weakness  so  lamentable  could  lie  behind  so  much  science  ? 

"  I  yield,"  he  said — "I  yield,  Mildred.  The  Present  is 
so  horrible  that  it  absolves  me  even  from  the  most  solemn 
oath.  Love  has  been  killed — we  will  revive  it  again. 
All  the  sweet  and  precious  things  that  made  life  happy 
have  been  killed ;  Art  and  Learning  and  Music,  all  have 
been  killed — we  will  revive  them.  Yes,  I  will  go  with 
you,  my  dear ;  and — since  you  cannot  go  without — I  will 
bring  the  Secret  with  me." 

"  Oh,  Harry !  Harry !"     She  flung  herself  into  his  arms. 


THE   ARCH   TRAITOR.  125 

"  You  have  made  me  more  happy  than  words  can  tell. 
Oh,  you  are  mine — you  are  mine,  and  I  am  yours  !" 

"  As  for  the  Secret,"  he  went  on,  "  it  belongs,  if  it  is  to 
be  used  at  all,  to  all  mankind.  Why  did  the  College  of 
Physicians  guard  it  in  their  own  jealous  keeping,  save  to 
make  themselves  into  a  mysterious  and  separate  Caste  ? 
Must  men  always  appoint  sacred  guardians  of  so-called 
mysteries  which  belong  to  all  ?  My  dear,  since  the  Great 
Discovery,  Man  has  been  sinking  lower  and  lower.  lie 
can  go  very  little  lower  now.  You  have  been  rescued 
from  the  appalling  fate  which  Grout  calls  the  Triumph 
of  Science.  Yes — yes — "  he  repeated,  as  if  uncertain, 
"  the  Secret  belongs  to  all  or  none.  Let  all  have  it  and 
work  out  their  destiny  in  freedom,  or  let  none  have  it, 
and  so  let  us  go  back  to  the  old  times,  when  such  great 
things  were  done  against  the  fearful  odds  of  so  short  and 
uncertain  a  span.     Which  would  be  the  better?" 

"  Only  come  with  us,  my  lover.  Oh,  can  a  simple 
woman  make  you  happy  ?  Come  with  us ;  but  let  our 
friends  know — else  they  will  not  come  with  us  —  that 
wherever  we  go,  we  have  the  Secret." 

"  It  belongs  to  all,"  he  repeated.  "  Come  with  me, 
then,  Mildred,  to  the  House  of  Life.  You  shall  be  the 
first  to  whom  the  Secret  shall  be  revealed.  And  you,  if 
you  please,  shall  tell  it  to  all  our  friends.  It  is  the  Secret, 
and  that  alone,  which  keeps  up  the  Authority  of  the  Col- 
lege. Come.  It  is  dark ;  but  I  have  a  key  to  the  North 
Postern.  Come  with  me.  In  the  beginning  of  this  new 
Life  which  lies  before  us,  I  will,  if  you  wish,  give  the 
Secret  to  all  who  share  it.     Come,  my  Love,  my  Pride." 

lie  led  her  by  the  hand  quickly  down  the  Picture  Gal- 
lery and  out  into  the  Garden. 

I  looked  round.  The  silly  folk  in  the  Museum  were 
going  on  with  their  masquerade — laughing,  singing,  dan- 


126  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

cing.  The  girl  Christine  ran  in  and  out  among  them 
with  bright  eyes  and  eager  looks.  And  the  eyes  of  the 
sailor,  Jack  Carera,  followed  her  everywhere.  Oh  yes. 
I  knew  what  those  eyes  meant — the  old  selfishness — the 
subjection  of  the  Woman.  She  was  to  be  his  Property. 
And  yet  she  seemed  to  like  it.  Forever  and  anon  she 
made  some  excuse  to  pass  him,  and  touched  his  hand  as 
she  passed  and  smiled  sweetly.  I  dare  say  that  she  was  a 
beautiful  girl — but  Beauty  has  nothing  at  all  to  do  with 
the  Administration  of  the  people.  However,  there  was 
no  time  to  be  lost.  The  Arch  Physician  was  going  to 
betray  the  Great  Secret. 

Happily  he  would  have  to  go  all  the  way  round  to  the 
North  Postern.  There  was  time,  if  I  was  quick,  to  call 
witnesses,  and  to  seize  him  in  the  very  act.  And  then — • 
the  Penalty.     Death !     Death !     Death ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN  THE  INNER   HOUSE. 


The  House  of  Life,  you  have  already  learned,  is  a  great 
and  venerable  building.  We  build  no  such  houses  now. 
No  one  but  those  who  belong  to  the  Holy  College — viz., 
the  Arch  Physician,  the  Suffragan,  the  Fellows  or  Physi- 
cians, and  the  Assistants — are  permitted  to  enter  its  doors 
or  to  witness  the  work  that  is  carried  on  within  these 
walls.  It  is,  however,  very  well  understood  that  this 
work  concerns  the  prolongation  of  the  Vital  Forces  first, 
the  preservation  of  Health  next,  and  the  enlargement  of 
scientific  truth  generally.  Tlie  House  is,  in  fact,  the  great 
laboratory  in  which  the  Fellows  conduct  those  researches 
of  which  it  is -not  permitted  to  speak  outside.     The  pre^ 


IN   THE   INNER   HOUSE.  127 

vention  of  disease,  the  cure  of  hereditary  and  hitherto  in- 
curable diseases,  the  continual  lowering  of  the  hours  of 
labor,  bj  new  discoveries  in  Chemistry  and  Physics,  are 
now  the  principal  objects  of  these  researches.  When,  in 
fact,  we  have  discovered  how  to  provide  food  chemically 
out  of  simple  matter,  and  thereby  abolish  the  necessity  for 
cultivation,  no  more  labor  will  be  required,  and  Humanity 
will  have  taken  the  last  and  greatest  step  of  all — freedom 
from  the  necessity  of  toil.  After  that,  there  will  be  no 
more  need  for  labor,  none  for  thought,  none  for  anxiety. 
At  stated  intervals  food,  chemically  prepared,  will  be 
served  out;  between  those  intervals  man  will  lie  at  rest — 
asleep,  or  in  the  torpor  of  unthinking  rest.  This  will  be, 
as  I  have  said  before,  the  Triumph  of  Science. 

The  House,  within,  is  as  magnificent  as  it  is  without ; 
that  is  to  say,  it  is  spacious  even  beyond  our  requirements, 
and  lofty  even  beyond  the  wants  of  a  laboratory.  All 
day  long  the  Fellows  and  the  Assistants  work  at  their  ta- 
bles. Here  is  everything  that  Science  wants  —  furnaces, 
electric  batteries,  retorts,  instruments  of  all  kinds,  and  col- 
lections of  everything  that  may  be  wanted.  Here — be- 
hind the  Inner  House — is  a  great  workshop  where  our 
glass  vessels  are  made,  where  our  instruments  are  manu- 
factured and  repaired.  The  College  contains  two  or 
three  hundred  of  Assistants  working  in  their  various  de- 
partments. These  men,  owing  to  the  restlessness  of  their 
intellect,  sometijnes  give  trouble, either  because  they  want 
to  learn  more  than  the  Fellows  think  sufficient  for  them, 
or  because  they  invent  something  unexpected,  or  because 
they  become  dissatisfied  with  the  tranquil  conditions  of 
their  life.  Some  of  them  from  time  to  time  have  gone 
mad.  Some,  who  threatened  more  trouble,  have  been 
painlessly  extinguished. 

Within  the  House  itself  is  the  Inner  House,  to  enter 


128  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

which  is  forbidden,  save  to  the  Arch  Physician,  the  Suf- 
fragan, and  the  Fellows. 

This  place  is  a  kind  of  House  within  a  House.  Those 
who  enter  from  the  South  Porch  see  before  them,  more 
than  half-way  up  the  immense  building,  steps,  upon  which 
stands  a  high  screen  of  wood-work.  This  screen,  which  is 
very  ancient,  protects  the  Inner  House  from  entrance  or 
observation.  It  runs  round  the  whole  enclosure,  and  is 
most  profusely  adorned  with  carved-work  representing  all 
kinds  of  things.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  never  exam- 
ined into  the  work,  and  I  hardly  know  what  it  is  that  is 
here  figured.  What  does  it  advance  science  to  carve 
bunches  of  grapes  (which  everybody  understands  not  to 
be  grapes)  in  wood  ?  All  these  things  in  the  House  of 
Life — the  carved  wood,  the  carved  stone,  the  carved  mar- 
ble, the  lofty  pillars,  the  painted  windows — irritate  and 
offend  me.  Yet  the  Arch  Physician,  who  loved  to  sit 
alone  in  the  Inner  House,  would  contemplate  these  works 
of  Art  with  a  kind  of  rapture.  I^ay,  he  would  wellnigh 
weep  at  thinking  that  now  there  are  no  longer  any  who 
can  work  in  that  useless  fashion. 

As  for  what  is  within  the  Inner  House,  I  must  needs 
speak  with  caution.  Suffice  it,  therefore,  to  say  that  round 
the  sides  of  the  screen  are  ancient  carved  seats  under 
carved  canopies,  which  are  the  seats  of  the  Fellows ;  and 
that  on  a  raised  stone  platform,  approached  by  several  steps, 
is  placed  the  Coffer  which  contains  the  Secret  of  the  Great 
Discovery.  The  Arch  Physician  alone  had  the  key  of  the 
Coffer ;  he  and  his  Suffragan  alone  possessed  the  Secret ; 
the  Fellows  were  only  called  into  the  Inner  House  when 
a  Council  was  held  on  some  new  Discovery  or  some  new 
adaptation  of  Science  to  the  wants  of  Mankind. 

Now,  after  overhearing  the  intended  treason  of  the  Arch 
Physician,  and  witnessing  his  degradation  and  fall,  I  made 


IN   THE   INNER   HOUSE.  129 

haste  to  act ;  for  I  plainly  perceived  that  if  the  miracu- 
lous Prolongation  of  the  Vital  Force  should  be  allowed  to 
pass  out  of  our  own  hands,  and  to  become  public  property, 
an  end  would  at  once  be  put  to  the  Order  and  Discipline 
now  so  firmly  established ;  the  Authority  of  the  College 
would  be  trampled  under  foot ;  everybody  would  begin 
to  live  as  they  pleased ;  the  old  social  conditions  might  be 
revived ;  and  the  old  social  inequalities  would  certainly 
begin  again,  because  the  strong  would  trample  on  the 
weak.  This  was,  perhaps,  what  Dr.  Linister  designed.  I 
remembered,  now,  how  long  it  was  before  he  could  forget 
the  old  distinctions ;  nay,  how  impossible  it  was  for  him 
ever  to  bring  himself  to  regard  me,  though  his  Suffragan 
— whom  he  had  formerly  made  his  serving-man — as  his 
equal.  Thinking  of  that  time,  and  of  those  distinctions, 
strengthened  my  purpose.  What  I  did  and  how  I  pre- 
vented the  treachery  will  approve  itself  to  all  who  have 
the  best  interests  of  mankind  at  heart. 

The  House  of  Life  after  nightfall  is  very  dark ;  the 
windows  are  high,  for  the  most  part  narrow,  and,  though 
there  are  a  great  many  of  them,  most  are  painted,  so  that 
even  on  a  clear  and  bright  day  there  is  not  more  light 
than  enough  to  carry  on  experiments,  and,  if  I  had  my 
way,  I  would  clear  out  all  the  painted  glass.  It  is,  of 
course,  provided  with  the  electric  light ;  but  this  is  seldom 
used  except  in  the  short  and  dark  days  of  winter,  when 
work  is  carried  on  after  nightfall.  In  the  evening  the 
place  is  absolutely  empty.  John  Lax,  the  Porter,  occupies 
the  South  Porch  and  keeps  the  keys.  But  there  is  another 
and  smaller  door  in  the  north  transept.  It  leads  to  a 
Court  of  Cloisters,  the  ancient  use  of  which  has  long  been 
forgotten,  the  key  of  which  is  kept  by  the  Arch  Physician 
himself. 
9 


130  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

It  was  with  this  key — at  this  entrance — that  he  came 
into  the  House.  He  opened  the  door  and  closed  it  behind 
him.  His  footstep  was  not  the  only  one;  a  lighter  step 
was  heard  on  the  stones  as  well.  In  the  silence  of  the 
place  and  time  the  closing  of  the  door  rumbled  in  the 
roof  overhead  like  distant  thunder,  and  the  falling  of  the 
footsteps  echoed  along  the  walls  of  the  great  building. 

The  two  companions  did  not  speak. 

A  great  many  years  ago,  in  the  old  times,  there  was  a 
Murder  done  here — a  foul  murder  by  a  band  of  soldiers, 
who  fell  upon  a  Bishop  or  Saint  or  Angel  —  I  know  not 
whom.  The  memory  of  the  Murder  has  survived  the 
name  of  the  victim  and  the  very  religion  which  he  pro- 
fessed— it  was,  perhaps,  that  which  was  still  maintained 
among  the  aristocracy  when  I  was  a  boy.  Not  only  is 
the  memory  of  the  murder  preserved,  but  John  Lax — who, 
soon  after  the  Great  Discovery,  when  we  took  over  the 
building  from  the  priests  of  the  old  religion,  was  appoint- 
ed its  Porter  and  heard  the  old  stories  —  would  tell  all 
those  who  chose  to  listen  how  the  Murderers  came  in  at 
that  small  door  and  how  the  murder  was  committed  on 
such  a  spot,  the  stones  of  which  are  to  this  day  red  with 
the  blood  of  the  murdered  man.  On  the  spot,  however, 
stands  now  a  great  electrical  battery. 

The  Arch  Physician,  now  about  to  betray  his  trust,  led 
his  companion,  the  woman  Mildred  Carera,  by  the  hand 
past  this  place  to  the  steps  which  lead  to  the  Inner  House, 
They  ascended  those  steps.  Standing  there,  still  outside 
the  Inner  House,  Dr.  Linister  bade  the  woman  turn  round 
and  look  upon  the  Great  House  of  Life. 

The  clouds  had  dispersed,  and  the  moonlight  was  now 
shining  through  the  windows  of  the  South,  lighting  up 
the  colored  glass,  painting  bright  pictures  and  patterns 
upon  the  floor,  and  pouring  white  light  through  those 


IN   THE   INNER   HOUSE.  131 

windows,  which  are  not  painted,  upon  the  clustered  pillars 
and  old  monuments  of  the  place.  Those  who  were  now 
gathered  in  the  Inner  House  listened,  holding  their  breath 
in  silence. 

"  Mildred,"  said  Dr.  Linister,  "long,  long  years  ago  we 
stood  together  upon  this  spot.  It  was  after  a  Service  of 
Praise  and  Prayer  to  the  God  whom  then  the  world  wor- 
shipped. We  came  from  town  with  a  party  to  see  this 
Cathedral.  When  service  was  over,  I  scoffed  at  it  in  the 
light  manner  of  the  time,  which  questioned  everything  and 
scoffed  at  everything." 

"  I  remember,  Ilany ;  and  all  through  the  service  ray 
mind  was  filled  with — you." 

"  I  scoff  no  more,  Mildred.  We  have  seen  to  what  a 
depth  men  can  sink  when  the  Hope  of  the  Future  is  taken 
from  them.  The  memory  of  that  service  comes  back  to 
me,  and  seems  to  consecrate  the  place  and  the  time.  Mil- 
dred," he  said,  after  a  pause — oh,  the  House  was  very  si- 
lent— "  this  is  a  solemn  and  a  sacred  moment  for  us  both. 
Here,  side  by  side,  on  the  spot  once  sacred  to  the  service 
of  the  God  whom  we  have  long  forgotten,  let  us  renew 
the  vows  which  were  interrupted  so  long  ago.  Mildred, 
with  all  my  heart,  with  all  my  strength,  I  love  thee." 

"Harry,"  she  murmured,  "I  am  thine — even  to  Death 
itself." 

"  Even  to  Death  itself,"  he  replied.  "  Yes,  if  it  comes 
to  that.  If  the  Great  Discovery  itself  must  be  abandoned ; 
if  we  find  that  only  at  that  price  can  we  regain  the  things 
we  have  lost." 

"  It  was  Grout  who  destroyed  Keligion — not  the  Great 
Discovery,"  said  the  girl. 

We  kept  silence  in  the  House,  but  we  heard  every  word. 
And  this  was  true,  and  my  heart  glowed  to  think  how  true 
it  was. 


132  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

"Kay,  not  Grout,  nor  a  thousand  Grouts.  Without 
the  certainty  of  parting,  Religion  droops  and  dies.  There 
must  be  something  not  understood,  something  unknown, 
beyond  our  power  of  discovery,  or  the  dependence  which 
is  the  ground  of  religion  dies  away  in  man's  heart.  He 
who  is  immortal  and  commands  the  secrets  of  Nature,  so 
that  he  shall  neither  die,  nor  grow  old,  nor  become  feeble, 
nor  fall  into  any  disease,  feels  no  necessity  for  any  re- 
ligion. This  House,  Mildred,  is  the  expression  of  religion 
at  the  time  of  man's  greatest  dependence.  To  the  God 
in  whom,  short-lived,  ignorant,  full  of  disease,  he  trusted 
he  built  this  splendid  place,  and  put  into  it  all  the  beauty 
that  he  could  command  of  sculpture  and  of  form.  But  it 
speaks  no  longer  to  the  People  for  whom  it  was  built. 
When  the  Great  Discovery  was  made,  it  would  surely 
have  been  better  to  have  found  out  whither  it  was  going 
to  lead  us  before  we  consented  to  receive  it." 

"Surely — "  said  Mildred,  but  the  other  interrupted  her. 

"  We  did  not  understand ;  we  were  blind — we  were 
blind." 

"  Yet— we  live." 

"  And  you  have  just  now  told  me  how.  Remember 
the  things  that  men  said  when  the  Discovery  was  made. 
We  were  to  advance  continually  ;  we  were  to  scale  heights 
hitherto  unapproached ;  we  were  to  achieve  things  hith- 
erto unknown  in  Art  as  well  as  in  Science.  Was  it  for 
the  Common  Meal,  the  Common  Dress,  the  Common  Toil, 
the  vacant  face,  the  lips  that  never  smile,  the  eyes  that 
never  brighten,  the  tongue  that  never  speaks,  the  heart 
that  beats  only  for  itself,  that  we  gave  up  the  things  we 
had  ?" 

"  We  did  not  expect  such  an  end,  Harry." 

"  No ;  we  had  not  the  wit  to  expect  it.  Come,  Mil- 
dred, I  will  give  you  the  Secret,  and  you  may  give  it,  if 


IN   THE    INNER   HOUSE.  133 

you  please,  to  all  the  world.  Oh,  I  feel  as  if  the  centuries 
had  fallen  away !  I  am  full  of  hope  again.  I  am  full  of 
the  old  life  once  more;  and,  Mildred — oh,  my  sweet! — I 
am  full  of  Love  !" 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  on  tlie  lips.  Then  he  led 
her  into  the  Inner  House. 

Now,  just  before  Dr.  Linister  turned  the  key  of  the 
postern,  the  door  of  the  South  Porch  was  softly  closed, 
and  a  company  of  twenty  men  walked  lightly  and  noise- 
lessly, in  slippers,  up  the  nave  of  the  House.  Arrived  at 
the  Inner  House,  they  ascended  the  steps  and  entered 
that  dark  Chapel,  every  man  making  straight  for  his  own 
seat  and  taking  it  without  a  word  or  a  breath.  This  was 
the  College  of  Physicians  hastily  called  by  me,  and  gath- 
ered together  to  witness  the  Great  Treachery  of  the 
Chief.  They  sat  there  silent  and  breathless  listening  to 
their  talk. 

The  Secret  was  kept  in  a  cipher,  intelligible  only  to  the 
two  who  then  guarded  it,  in  a  fire-proof  chest  upon  the 
stone  table  which  was  once  the  altar  of  the  old  Faith. 

Dr.  Linister  stood  before  the  chest,  his  key  in  his  hand. 

"  It  would  be  better,"  he  said,  "  if  the  new  departure 
could  be  made  without  the  Secret.  It  would  be  far,  far 
better  if  we  could  start  again  under  the  old  conditions; 
but  if  they  are  afraid  to  go  without  the  Secret,  why — " 
He  unlocked  the  chest.     Then  he  paused  again. 

"  How  many  years  have  I  been  the  guardian  of  this  Se- 
cret? Mildred,  when  I  think  of  the  magnificent  vistas 
which  opened  up  before  our  eyes  when  this  Great  Dis- 
covery was  made ;  when  I  think  of  the  culture  without 
bound  or  limit;  the  Art  in  which  the  hand  was  always  to 
grow  more  and  more  dexterous;  the  Science  M-hich  was 


134  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

to  advance  with  gigantic  strides  —  my  child,  I  feel  in- 
clined to  sink  into  the  earth  with  shame,  only  to  compare 
that  dream  with  the  awful,  the  terrible,  the  disgraceful 
reality!  Let  us  all  go  away.  Let  us  leave  this  place, 
and  let  us  make  a  new  beginning,  with  sadder  minds,  yet 
with  this  experience  of  the  Present  to  guide  us  and  to 
keep  us  from  committing  worse  follies.  See,  dear — here 
is  the  Secret.  The  cipher  in  which  it  is  written  has  a 
key  which  is  in  this  paper.  I  place  all  in  your  hands.  If 
accident  should  destroy  me,  you  have  the  Secret  still  for 
yourself  and  friends.  Use  it  well — use  it  better  than  we 
have  used  it.     Kiss  me,  Mildred.     Oh,  my  dear !" 

Then,  as  they  lay  in  each  other's  arms,  I  turned  on  the 
electric  light  and  discovered  them.  The  chest  stood  open  ; 
the  papers,  cipher,  key  and  all,  were  in  the  girl's  hands; 
the  Arch  Physician  was  caught  in  the  very  act  of  his  su- 
preme Treachery  ! 

And  lo !  the  Fellows  of  the  Holy  College  were  in  the 
Inner  House ;  every  man  in  his  place,  every  man  looking 
on,  and  every  man  standing  upright  with  eyes  and  gest- 
ures of  scorn. 

"  Traitor !"  they  cried,  one  and  all. 

John  Lax  appeared  at  the  door,  halberd  in  hand. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   COUNCIL   IN  THE   HOUSE. 


"  Brothers  of  the  Holy  College !"  I  cried,  "  you  have 
beheld  the  crime — you  are  witnesses  of  the  Fact — you 
have  actually  seen  the  Arch  Physician  himself  revealing 
the  Great  Secret,  which  none  of  yourselves,  even  of  the 
College,  hath  been  permitted  to  learn — the  Secret  confined 


THE   COUNCIL   IN   THE   HOUSE.  135 

by  the  Wisdom  of  the  College  to  himself  and  to  his  Suf- 
fragan." 

"  We  are  witnesses,"  they  cried,  with  one  consent.  To 
my  great  satisfaction,  even  those  who  were  of  Dr.  Linis- 
ter's  party,  and  who  voted  with  him  against  the  Adminis- 
tration and  Policy  of  the  College,  spoke,  on  this  occasion, 
for  the  plain  and  undeniable  truth. 

"  What,"  I  asked,  "  is  the  Penalty  when  one  of  the  least 
among  us,  even  an  Assistant  only,  betrays  to  the  People 
any  of  the  secrets — even  the  least  secret — of  the  work 
carried  on  in  this  House?" 

"It  is  Death,"  they  replied,  with  one  voice. 

"  It  is  Death,"  I  repeated,  pointing  to  the  Arch  Phy- 
sician. 

At  such  a  moment,  when  nothing  short  of  annihilation 
appeared  in  view,  one  would  have  expected  from  the~ 
guilty  pair  an  appearance  of  the  greatest  consternation 
and  dismay.  On  the  contrary,  the  Arch  Physician,  with 
an  insensibility — or  a  bravado — which  one  would  not  have 
expected  of  him,  stood  before  us  all,  his  arms  folded,  his 
eyes  steady,  his  lips  even  smiling.  Beside  him  stood  the 
girl,  dressed  in  the  ridiculous  mummery  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  bowed  down,  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  It  is  I,"  she  murmured — "  it  is  I,  Harry,  who  have 
brought  you  to  this.  Oh,  forgive  me !  Let  us  die  to- 
gether. Since  I  have  awakened  out  of  the  stupid  torpor 
of  the  Present — since  we  remembered  the  Past — and 
Love — let  us  die  together;  for  I  could  not  live  without 
you."  She  knelt  at  his  feet,  and  laid  her  head  upon  his 
arm.  "My  love,"  she  said,  "my  Lord  and  Love!  let  me 
die  with  you." 

At  this  extraordinary  spectacle  I  laughed  alond.  Love  ? 
I  thought  the  old  wives'  tales  of  Love  and  Lordship  were 
long,  long  since  dead  and  forgotten.    Yet  here  was  a  man 


136  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

for  the  sake  of  a  woman — actually  because  she  wanted  to 
go  away  and  begin  again  the  old  pernicious  life — break- 
ing his  most  sacred  vows;  and  here  was  a  woman — for 
the  sake  of  this  man — actually  and  truly  for  his  sake — 
asking  for  death — death  with  him  !  Since,  when  they 
were  both  dead,  there  could  be  no  more  any  feeling  one 
for  the  other,  why  ask  for  death  ?  What  good  could  that 
do  for  either? 

"  Your  wish,"  I  said  to  this  foolish  woman,  "  shall  be 
gratified,  in  case  the  Judges  of  your  case  decide  that  your 
crime  can  be  expiated  by  no  less  a  penalty.  Fellows  of 
the  College,  let  this  guilty  pair  be  confined  for  the  night, 
and  to-morrow  we  will  try  them  solemnly  in  the  College 
Court  according  to  anoient  custom." 

I  know  not  how  many  years  had  elapsed  since  that 
Court  was  held.  The  offences  of  the  old  time  were  for 
the  most  part  against  property — since  there  had  been  no 
property,  there  had  been  no  crimes  of  this  kind.  Another 
class  of  old  offences  consisted  of  violence  rising^  out  of 
quarrels;  since  almost  all  these  quarrels  originated  in  dis- 
putes about  property — every  man  in  the  old  time  who  had 
property  was  either  a  thief  or  the  son  of  a  thief,  so  that 
disputes  were  naturally  incessant — there  could  be  no 
longer  any  such  quarrels  or  any  such  violence.  A  third 
class  of  crimes  were  caused  by  love,  jealousy,  and  the 
like ;  these  two  had  happily,  as  we  believed,  disappeared 
forever. 

The  last  class  of  crimes  to  vanish  were  those  of  mutiny. 
When  the  People  grew  gradually  to  understand  that  the 
welfare  of  all  was  the  only  rule  of  the  governing  body, 
and  that  selfishness,  individualism,  property,  privilege, 
would  no  longer  be  permitted,  they  left  off  murmuring, 
and  mutiny  ceased.  You  have  seen  how  orderly,  how 
docile,  how  tranquil,  is  the  life  of  the  People  as  it  has 


THE   COUNCIL    IN   THE   HOUSE.  137 

been  ordered  by  the  Sacred  College.  Alas!  I  thought 
that  this  order,  this  sheep-like  freedom  from  Thought,  was 
going  to  be  henceforth  universal  and  undisturbed. 

Our  prisoners  made  no  opposition.  John  Lax,  the 
Porter,  bearing  his  halberd  of  office,  marched  beside  them. 
We  closed  in  behind  them,  and  in  this  order  we  led  them 
to  the  strong  room  over  the  South  Porch,  which  is  pro- 
vided with  bars  and  a  lock.  It  is  the  sleeping-chamber 
of  John  Lax,  but  for  this  night  he  was  to  remain  on  the 
watch  below. 

Then,  as  Suffragan,  I  called  a  Council  of  Emergency  in 
the  Inner  House,  taking  the  Presidency  in  the  absence  of 
the  Arch  Physician. 

I  told  my  brethren  briefly  what  had  happened;  how 
my  attention  had  been  called  to  the  fact  that  a  company 
of  the  People,  headed  by  the  young  girl  called  Christine, 
liad  begun  to  assemble  every  night  in  the  Museum,  there 
to  put  on  clothes  which  belonged  to  the  old  time,  and  to 
masquerade  in  the  manners,  language,  and  amusements  (so 
called)  of  that  time;  that  this  assemblage,  which  midit 
have  been  innocent  and  even  laudable  if  it  led,  as  it  should 
have  done,  to  a  detestation  of  the  old  times,  had  proved 
mischievous,  because,  strangely  enough,  it  had  exactly  the 
opposite  effect;  that,  in  fact,  everybody  in  the  company 
bad  fallen  into  an  ardent  yearning  after  the  Past,  and  that 
all  the  bad  features  of  that  bad  time— the  Social  inequal- 
ity, the  Poverty,  the  Injustice— were  carefully  ignored. 

Upon  this,  one  of  Dr.  Linister's  Party  arose,  and  begged 
permission  to  interrupt  the  Suffragan.  He  wished  to 
point  out  that  memory  was  indestructible;  that  even  if 
we  succeeded  in  reducing  Mankind,  as  the  Suffragan 
wished,  to  be  a  mere  breathing  and  feeding  machine— the 
Ultimate  Triumph  of  Science — any  one  of  these  machines 
might  be  at  any  time  electrified  into  a  full  and  exact 


138  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

memory  of  the  Past ;  that,  to  the  average  man,  the  Emo- 
tion of  the  Past  would  always  be  incomparably  preferable 
to  the  Tranquillity  of  the  Present.  What  had  just  been 
done  would  be  done  again. 

I  went  on,  after  this  interruption,  to  narrate  how  I  set 
myself  to  watch,  and  presently  saw  the  Arch  Physician 
himself  enter  the  Museum  ;  how  he  exchanged  his  gown 
for  the  costume  in  which  the  men  disfigured  themselves, 
play-acted,  pretended,  and  masqueraded  with  them ;  danced 
with  them,  no  external  respect  whatever  being  paid  to  his 
rank ;  and  afterwards  had  certain  love  passages — actually 
love  passages  between  the  Arch  Physician  and  a  Woman 
of  the  People ! — which  I  overheard,  and  repeated  as  far 
as  I  could  remember  them.  The  rest  my  brethren  of  the 
College  knew  already;  how  I  hastily  summoned  them, 
and  led  them  into  the  Inner  House  just  before  the  arrival 
of  the  Criminals. 

Thereupon,  without  any  attempt  of  Dr.  Linister's  friends 
to  the  contrary,  it  was  Resolved  that  the  Trial  of  the  Arch 
Physician  and  his  accomplices  should  be  held  in  the 
morning. 

I  next  invited  their  attention  to  the  behavior  of  the 
girl  Christine.  She  it  was,  I  told  them,  who  had  insti- 
gated the  whole  of  the  business.  A  culpable  curiosity  it 
was,  no  doubt,  that  lirst  led  her  to  consider  and  study  the 
ways  of  the  ancient  world  ;  what  should  be  the  wa^^s  of 
the  Past  to  an  honest  and  loyal  person,  satisfied  with  the 
Wisdom  which  ruled  the  Present?  She  read  the  old 
books,  looked  at  the  old  pictures,  and  lived  all  day  long  in 
the  old  Museum.  There  were  many  things  which  she 
could  not  understand  ;  she  wanted  to  understand  these 
things;  and  she  conceived  a  violent,  unreasoning  admira- 
tion for  the  old  time,  which  appeared  to  this  foolish  girl 
to  be   a   continual    round   of   pleasure   and    excitement. 


THE   COUNCIL    IN    THE   HOUSE.  139 

Therefore  she  gathered  together  a  company  of  those  who 
had  belonged  to  the  richer  class  in  the  days  when  prop- 
erty was  permitted.  She  artfully  awakened  them  out  of 
their  contentment,  sowed  the  seeds  of  dissatisfaction 
among  them,  caused  them  to  remember  the  Past  with  a 
vehement  longing  to  reproduce  the  worst  part  of  it — 
namely,  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  richer  class — the 
people  for  whom  the  bulk  of  mankind  toiled,  so  that  the 
privileged  few  might  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  feast, 
dance,  sing,  and  make  love.  I  asked  the  College,  there- 
fore, what  should  be  done  with  such  a  girl,  warning  them 
that  one  Penalty,  and  one  only,  would  meet  the  case  and 
render  for  the  future  such  outbreaks  impossible. 

Again  the  Physician  who  had  spoken  before  rose  up 
and  remarked  that  such  outbreaks  were  inevitable,  be- 
cause the  memory  is  indestructible. 

"  You  have  here,"  he  said,  "  a  return  to  the  Past,  because 
a  young  girl,  by  reading  the  old  books,  has  been  able  to 
stimulate  the  memory  of  those  who  were  born  in  the 
Past.  Other  things  may  bring  about  the  same  result ;  a 
dream,  the  talking  together  of  two  former  friends.  Let 
the  girl  alone.  She  has  acted  as  we  might  have  expected 
a  young  girl — the  only  young  girl  among  us — to  have 
acted.  She  has  found  that  the  Past,  which  some  of  us 
have  represented  as  full  of  woe  and  horror,  had  its  pleas- 
ant side ;  she  asks  why  that  pleasant  side  could  not  be 
reproduced.  I,  myself,  or  any  of  us,  might  ask  the  same 
question.  Nay,  it  is  well  known  that  I  protest — and  al- 
ways shall  protest,  my  friends  and  I — against  the  Theory 
of  the  Suffragan.  His  Triumph  of  Science  we  consider 
horrible  to  the  last  degree.  I,  for  one,  shall  never  be  sat- 
isfied until  the  Present  is  wholly  abolished,  and  until  we 
have  gone  back  to  the  good  old  system  of  Individualism, 
and  begun  to  encourage  the  People  once  more  to  cultivate 


140  THE  INNER  HOUSE. 

the  old  happiness  by  the  old  methods  of  their  own  exer- 
tion." 

I  replied  that  my  own  recollection  of  the  old  time  was 
perfectly  clear,  and  that  there  was  nothing  but  unhappi- 
ness  in  it.  As  a  child  I  lived  in  the  street ;  I  never  had 
enough  to  eat ;  I  was  cuffed  and  kicked ;  I  could  never 
go  to  bed  at  night  until  my  father,  who  always  came  home 
drunk,  was  asleep;  the  streets  were  full  of  miserable 
children  like  myself.  Where  was  the  happiness  described 
by  my  learned  brother?  Where  was  the  pleasant  side? 
More  I  said,  but  it  suffices  to  record  that  by  a  clear  major- 
ity it  was  Resolved  to  arrest  the  girl  Christine  in  the 
morning,  and  to  try  all  three  prisoners,  as  soon  as  the 
Court  could  be  prepared  for  them,  according  to  ancient 
usage. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  sought  an  interview  with  the 
Arch  Physician.  I  found  him,  with  the  woman  Mildred, 
sitting:  in  the  Chamber  over  the  Porch.  There  was  no 
look  of  terror,  or  even  of  dejection,  on  the  face  of  either. 
Rather  there  was  an  expression  as  of  exaltation.  Yet  they 
were  actually  going  to  die — to  cease  breathing — to  lose 
consciousness ! 

I  told  the  prisoner  that  I  desired  to  represent  my  own 
conduct  in  its  true  light.  I  reminded  him  that,  with  him, 
I  was  guardian  of  the  Holy  Secret.  The  power  and  au- 
thority of  the  College,  I  pointed  out,  were  wholly  depend- 
ent upon  the  preservation  of  that  Secret  in  its  own  hands. 
By  divulging  it  to  the  People  he  would  make  them  as 
independent  of  the  Physician  as  the  Great  Discovery  it- 
self had  made  them  independent  of  the  Priest.  The  latter 
had,  as  he  pretended,  the  Keys  of  the  After  Life.  The 
former  did  actually  hold  those  of  the  Actual  Life.  The 
authority  of  the  Physician  gone,  the  people  would  proceed 
to  divide  among  themselves,  to  split  up  into  factions,  to 


THE   COUNCIL   IN   THE   HOUSE.  141 

fight  and  quarrel,  to  hold  private  property,  and  in  fact 
would  speedily  return  to  the  old  times,  and  all  the  work 
that  we  had  accomplished  would  be  destroyed.  Every 
man  would  have  the  knowledge  of  the  Secret  for  himself 
and  his  family.  They  would  all  begin  to  fight  again — 
first  for  the  family,  next  for  the  Commune,  and  then  for 
the  tribe  or  nation.  All  this  would  have  been  brought 
about  by  his  treachery  had  not  I  prevented  it. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  doubtless  you  are  quite  right,  Grout." 
He  spoke  quite  in  the  old  manner,  as  if  I  had  been  still 
his  servant  in  the  old  laboratory.  It  was  not  till  after- 
wards that  I  remembered  this,  and  became  enraged  to 
think  of  his  arrogance.  "  We  will  not  argue  the  matter. 
It  is  not  worth  while.  You  acted  after  your  kind,  and  as 
I  might  have  expected."  Again  it  was  not  until  after- 
wards that  I  considered  what  he  meant  and  was  enraged. 
"  When  we  allowed  gentlehood  to  be  destroyed,  gentle 
manners,  honor,  dignity,  and  such  old  virtues  went  too. 
You  acted — for  yourself — very  well,  Grout.  Have  you 
anything  more  to  say  ?  As  for  us,  we  have  gone  back  to 
the  old  times,  this  young  lady  and  I — quite  to  the  old, 
old  times."  He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  while  his 
eyes  met  hers,  and  they  were  filled  with  a  tenderness 
which  amazed  me.  "  This  lady.  Grout,"  he  said,  "  has 
done  me  the  honor  of  accepting  my  hand.  You  will 
understand  that  no  greater  happiness  could  have  befallen 
me.  The  rest  that  follows  is  of  no  importance — none — 
not  the  least.  My  dear,  this  is  Grout,  formerly  employed 
in  my  laboratory.  Unfortunately  he  has  no  experience 
of  Love,  or  of  any  of  the  Arts  or  Culture  of  the  good  old 
Time ;  but  a  man  of  great  intelligence.  You  can  go. 
Grout." 


142  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  TRIAL  AND  SENTENCE. 

I  WAS  greatly  pleased  with  the  honest  zeal  shown  by 
John  Lax,  the  Porter,  on  this  occasion.  When,  after 
snatching  three  or  four  hours'  sleep,  I  repaired  to  the 
House,  I  found  that  worthy  creature  polishing  at  a  grind- 
stone nothing  less  than  a  great,  heavy  Execution  Axe, 
which  had  done  service  many  times  in  the  old,  old  days 
on  Tower  Hill,  and  had  since  peacefully  reposed  in  the 
Museum, 

"  Suffragan,"  he  said,  "  I  am  making  ready."  His  feet 
turned  the  treadle,  and  the  wheel  flew  round,  and  the 
sparks  showered  from  the  blunt  old  weapon.  He  tried 
the  edge  with  his  finger.  "  'Tis  not  so  sharp  as  a  razor," 
he  said,  "  but  'twill  serve." 

"John  Lax,  methinks  you  anticipate  the  sentence  of 
the  Court." 

"  Suffragan,  with  submission,  it  is  Death  to  divulge  any 
secret  of  this  House.  It  is  Death  even  for  me.  Porter  of 
the  House,  to  tell  them  outside  of  any  Researches  or  Ex- 
periments that  I  may  observe  in  my  service  about  the 
House.  And  if  so  great  a  Penalty  is  pronounced  against 
one  who  would  reveal  such  trifles  as  I  could  divulge,  what 
of  the  Great  Secret  itself  f 

"Lax,  you  are  a  worthy  man.  Know,  therefore,  that 
this  Secret  once  divulged,  the  Authority  of  the  College 
would  vanish  ;  and  we,  even  the  Physicians  themselves — 
to  say  nothing  of  the  Assistants,  the  Bedells,  and  you 


THE  TRIAL   AND   SENTENCE.  143 

yourself  —  would  become   no  better  than  the  Common 
People.     You  do  well  to  be  zealous." 

John  Lax  nodded  his  head.  He  was  a  taciturn  man 
habitually ;  but  now  he  became  loquacious.  He  stopped 
the  grindstone,  laid  down  the  axe,  and  rammed  his  hands 
into  his  pockets. 

"When  I  see  them  women  dressed  up  like  swells—" 
he  began,  grinning. 

"  John,  this  kind  of  language  belongs  to  the  old  days, 
when  even  speech  was  unequal." 

"  Xo  matter ;  you  understand  it.  Lord  !  Sammy  Grout, 
the  brewer's  boy— we  were  both  Whitechapel  pets ;  but  I 
was  an  old  'un  of  five  and  thirty,  while  you  were  on'y  be- 
ginning to  walk  the  Waste  with  a  gal  on  your  arm— p'r'aps 
—and  a  ha'penny  fag  in  your  mouth.  Hold  on,  now.  It's 
like  this—" 

What  with  the  insolence  of  Dr.  Linister,  and  the  sight 
of  the  old  dresses,  and  the  sound  of  the  old  language,  I 
myself  was  carried  away.  Yes,  I  was  once  more  Sam 
Grout ;  again  I  walked  upon  the  pavement  of  the  White- 
chapel Koad ;  again  I  was  a  boy  in  the  great  brewery  of 
Mile  End  Koad. 

"Go  on,  John  Lax,"  I  said,  with  condescension.  "Re- 
vive, if  it  is  possible,  something  of  the  Past.  I  give  you 
full  leave.  But  when  you  come  to  the  Present,  forget 
not  the  reverence  due  to  the  Suffragan." 

"  Right,  guv'nor.  Well,  then,  it's  like  this.  I  see  them 
men  and  women  dressed  up  in  the  old  fallals,  and  goiu' 
on  like  Pve  seen  'em  goin'  on  long  ago  with  their  inso- 
lence and  their  haw-haws— damn  'em— and  all  the  old 
feelings  came  back  to  me,  and  I  thought  I  was  spoutin' 
again  on  a  Sunday  mornin',  and  askin'  my  fellow-country- 
men if  they  always  meant  to  sit  down  and  be  slaves.  And 
the  memory  came  back  to  me— ah !  proper  it  did— of  a 


144  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

speech  I  made  'em  one  mornin'  all  about  this  French  Kev- 
ohition.  '  Less  'ave  our  own  Revohition,'  I  sez,  sez  I. 
'  Less  brhig  out  all  the  Bloomin'  Kings  and  Queens,'  I 
sez,  'the  Dukes  and  Markisses,  the  fat  Bishops  and  the 
lazy  Parsons.  Less  do  what  the  French  did.  Less  make 
'em  shorter  by  the  'ed,'  I  sez.  That's  what  I  said  that 
mornin'.  Some  of  the  people  laughed,  and  some  of  'era 
went  away.  There  never  was  a  lot  more  difficult  to  move 
than  them  Whitechappellers.  They'd  listen— and  then 
they'd  go  away.  They'd  too  much  line  speeches  give  'em 
— that  was  the  matter  with  'em — too  much.  Nothing 
never  came  of  it.  That  night  I  was  in  the  Public  havin' 
a  drop,  and  we  began  to  talk.  There  was  a  row,  and  a  bit 
of  a  figlit.  But  before  we  was  fired  out  I  up  and  said 
plain,  for  everybody  to  hear,  that  when  it  came  to  chop- 
pin'  off  their  noble  'eds  I'd  be  the  man  to  do  it — and  joy- 
ful, I  said.  Well  now,  Sammy  Grout,  you  were  in  that 
Public  Bar  among  that  crowd — maybe  you've  forgotten 
it.  But  I  remember  you  very  well.  You  was  standin' 
there,  and  you  laughed  about  the  choppin'.  You've  for- 
gotten, Sammy.  Think.  It  was  a  fine  summer  evenin' : 
you  weren't  in  Church.  Come  now — you  can't  say  you 
ever  went  to  Church,  Sammy  Grout." 

"  I  never  did.  But  go  on,  John  Lax.  Recall  as  much 
of  the  Past  as  you  wish,  if  it  makes  you  love  the  Present 
more.  I  would  not  say  aught  to  diminish  an  honest 
zeal." 

"  Eight,  guv'nor.  Well,  I  never  got  that  chance.  There 
was  no  choppin'  of  'eds  at  all.  When  we  had  to  murder 
the  old  people,  your  Honor  would  have  it  done  scientifi- 
cally ;  and  there  was  as  many  old  working-men  killed  off 
as  swells,  which  was  a  thousand  pities,  an'  made  a  cove's 
heart  bleed.  What  I  say  is  this.  Here  we've  got  a  return 
to  the  old  Times.     Quite  unexpected  it  is.     !Now  we've 


THE   TRIAL   AND   SENTENCE.  145 

got  such  a  chance,  Avhicli  will  never  come  again,  let  'era 
just  see  how  the  old  Times  worked.  Have  a  Procession, 
with  the  Executioner  goin'  before  the  criminals,  his  axe 
on  his  shoulder  ready  to  begin.  If  3'ou  could  only  be 
Sammy  Grout  again — but  that  can't  be,  I'm  afraid — what 
a  day's  outing  you  would  have  had  to  be  sure  !  Suffragan, 
let  us  show  'em  how  the  old  Times  worked.  And  let  me 
be  the  Executioner.  I'll  do  it,  I  promise  you,  proper. 
I've  got  the  old  spirit  upon  me — ah  !  and  the  old  strength, 
too — just  as  I  had  then.  Oh!  It's  too  much!"  He  sat 
down  and  hugged  the  axe.  I  thought  he  would  have 
kissed  it.  "  It's  too  much  !  To  think  that  the  time  would 
ever  come  when  I  should  execute  a  swell  —  and  that 
swell  the  Arch  Physician  himself.  Damn  him !  He's 
always  looked  as  if  everybody  else  was  dirt  beneath  his 
feet." 

"I  know  not,"  I  told  him  gently,  "what  may  be  the 
decision  of  the  Court.  But,  John  Lax,  continue  to  grind 
your  axe.  I  w'ould  not  throw  cold  water  on  honest  zeal. 
Your  strength,  you  say,  is  equal  to  your  spirit.  You  will 
not  flinch  at  the  last  moment.  Ah !  we  have  some  honest 
men  left." 

The  Court  was  held  that  morning  in  the  nave  of  the 
House  itself.  The  Judges,  who  were  the  whole  College 
of  Physicians,  sat  in  a  semicircle ;  whereas  the  three  pris- 
oners stood  in  a  row — the  Arch  Physician  carrying  him- 
self with  a  haughty  insolence  which  did  not  assist  his 
chances :  clinging  to  his  arm,  still  in  her  silk  dress,  with 
her  bracelets  and  chains,  and  her  hair  artfully  arranged, 
was  the  woman  called  Mildred.  She  looked  once,  hur- 
riedly, at  the  row  of  Judges,  and  then  turned  with  a  shud- 
der— she  found  small  comfort  in  those  faces — to  her  lover, 
and  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  while  he  supported 
her  with  his  arm.  The  degradation  and  folly  of  the  Arch 
10 


146  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

Physician,  apart  from  the  question  of  his  guilt,  as  shown 
in  this  behavior,  were  complete. 

Beside  Mildred  stood  the  girl  Christine.  Her  face  was 
flushed;  her  eyes  were  bright:  she  stood  with  clasped 
hands,  looking  steadily  at  the  Judges :  she  wore,  instead 
of  the  Regulation  Dress,  a  frock  of  white  stuff,  which  she 
had  found,  I  suppose,  in  the  Museum — as  if  open  disobe- 
dience of  our  laws  would  prove  a  passport  to  favor.  She 
had  let  her  long  hair  fall  upon  her  shoulders  and  down 
her  back.  Perhaps  she  hoped  to  conquer  her  Judges  by 
her  beauty — old  time  phrase !  Woman's  beauty,  indeed, 
to  Judges  who  know  every  bone  and  every  muscle  in 
woman's  body,  and  can  appreciate  the  nature  of  her  intel- 
lect, as  well  as  of  her  structure !  "Woman's  Beauty  !  As 
if  that  could  ever  again  move  the  world ! 

Behind  the  President's  Chair — I  was  the  President — 
stood  John  Lax,  bearing  his  halberd  of  office. 

The  Doors  of  the  House  were  closed :  the  usual  sounds 
of  Laboratory  work  were  silent :  the  Assistants,  who  usu- 
ally at  this  hour  would  have  been  engaged  in  Research 
and  Experiment,  were  crowded  outside  the  Court. 

I  have  been  told,  since,  that  there  were  omitted  at  the 
Trial  many  formalities  which  should  have  been  observed 
at  such  a  Trial.  For  instance,  there  should  have  been  a 
Clerk  or  two  to  make  notes  of  the  proceedings:  there 
should  have  been  a  Formal  Indictment :  and  there  should 
have  been  Witnesses.  But  these  are  idle  forms.  The 
guilt  of  the  Prisoners  was  proved :  we  had  seen  it  with 
our  own  eyes.     We  were  both  Judges  and  Witnesses. 

I  was  once,  however,  in  the  old  days,  charged  (and 
fined)  before  a  magistrate  in  Bow  Street  for  assaulting  a 
Constable,  and  therefore  I  know  something  of  how  a  Crim- 
inal Court  should  proceed.  So, without  any  unnecessary  for- 
jnalities,  I  conducted  the  Trial  according  to  Common  Sense, 


THE  TRIAL   AND   SENTENCE.  147 

"What  is  your  name?"  I  asked  the  Arch  Physician. 

"  Harry  Linister— once  M.D.  of  Cambridge,  and  Fellow 
of  the  Royal  Society." 

"  What  are  you  by  trade  V 

"  Physicist  and  Arch  Physician  of  the  Holy  College  of 
the  Inner  House." 

"  We  shall  see  how  long  you  will  be  able  to  describe 
yourself  by  those  titles.  Female  Prisoner— you  in  the 
middle — what  is  your  name  ?" 

"  I  am  the  Lady  Mildred  Carera,  daughter  of  the  Earl 
of  Thordis4." 

"  Come— come— none  of  your  Ladyships  and  Earls  here. 
We  are  now  all  equal.  You  are  plain  Mildred.  And 
yours— you  girl  in  the  white  frock  ?  How  dare  you,  either 
of  yon,  appear  before  us  in  open  violation  of  the  Rules  ?" 

"  I  am  named  Christine,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  put  on 
the  white  frock  because  it  is  becomino-." 

At  this  point  1  was  interrupted  by  a  whisper  from  John 
Lax. 

"Christine's  friends,"  he  said,  "are  gathering  in  the 
Museum,  and  they  arc  very  noisy.  They  threaten  to  give 
trouble." 

"  When  the  Trial  and  Execution  are  over,"  I  told  him, 
"arrest  them  every  one.  Let  tliem  all  be  confined  in  the 
Museum.  To-morrow,  or  perhaps  this  afternoon,  we  will 
try  them  as  well." 

The  man  grinned  with  satisfaction.  Had  he  known 
what  a  fatal  mistake  I  was  making,  he  would  not  have 
grinned.  Rather  would  his  face  have  expressed  the  most 
dreadful  horror. 

Then  the  Trial  proceeded. 

"Dr.  Linister,"  I  said,  "it  is  a  very  singular  point  in 
this  case  that  we  have  not  to  ask  you  whether  you  plead 
'guilty  '  or  '  not  guilty,'  because  we  have  all  seen  you  with 


148  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

our  own  eyes  engaged  in  the  verj  act  with  which  you  are 
charged.     You  are  guilty." 

"  I  am,"  he  replied,  calmly. 

"  Your  companion  is  also  guilty.  I  saw  her  practising 
upon  you  those  blandishments,  or  silly  arts,  by  which 
women  formerly  lured  men.  We  also  saw  her  on  the 
point  of  receiving  from  you  the  Great  Secret,  which  must 
never  be  suffered  to  leave  this  Building." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  if  he  is  guilty,  I  am  guilty  as  well." 

"  As  for  you  "  (I  turned  to  Christine),  "  you  have  been 
so  short  a  time  in  the  world — only  nineteen  years  or  so — 
that  to  leave  it  will  cause  little  pain  to  you.  It  is  not  as 
if  you  had  taken  root  with  all  the  years  of  life  which  the 
others  have  enjoyed.  Yet  the  Court  would  fail  in  its  duty 
did  it  not  point  out  the  enormity  of  your  offence.  You 
were  allowed  to  grow  up  undisturbed  in  the  old  Museum: 
you  spent  your  time  in  developing  a  morbid  curiosity  into 
the  Past.  You  were  so  curious  to  see  with  your  own  eyes 
what  it  was  to  outward  show,  that  you  cast  about  to  find 
among  the  tranquil  and  contented  People  some  whose 
minds  you  might  disturb  and  lead  back  to  the  restless  old 
times.  This  was  a  most  guilty  breach  of  confidence.  Have 
you  anything  to  say  ?     Do  you  confess  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  confess." 

"  Next,  you,  with  this  woman  and  a  Company  who  will 
also  be  brought  to  Justice  before  long,  began  to  assemble 
together,  and  to  revive,  with  the  assistance  of  books,  pict- 
ures, dress,  and  music,  a  portion  of  the  Past.  But  what 
portion  ?  Was  it  the  portion  of  the  vast  majority,  full  of 
disease,  injustice,  and  starvation  ?  Did  you  show  how  the 
old  Times  filled  the  houses  with  struggling  needlewomen 
and  men  who  refused  to  struggle  any  longer?  Did  you 
show  the  Poor  and  the  Unemployed  ?  Not  at  all.  You 
showed  the  life  of  the  Rich  and  the  Idle.     And  so  you 


THE  TRIAL   AND   SENTENCE.  149 

revived  a  longing  for  what  shall  never — never — be  per- 
mitted to  return — the  Period  of  Property  and  the  Reign 
of  Individualism.  It  was  your  crime  to  misrepresent  the 
Past,  and  to  set  forth  the  Exception  as  the  Rule.  This 
must  be  made  impossible  for  the  future.  What  have  you 
to  say,  Christine  ?" 

"  Nothing.  I  told  you  before.  Nothing.  I  have  con- 
fessed.    Why  keep  on  asking  me?" 

She  looked  round  the  Court  with  no  apparent  fear.  I 
suppose  it  was  because  she  was  so  young,  and  had  not  yet 
felt  any  apprehension  of  the  Fate  which  was  now  so  near 
unto  her. 

"  Dr.  Linister,"  I  said,  "  before  considering  its  sentence, 
the  Court  will  hear  what  you  may  have  to  say." 

"I  have  but  little  to  say,''  he  replied.  "Everybody  in 
the  College  knows  that  I  have  always  been  opposed  to 
the  methods  adopted  by  the  Suffragan  and  the  College. 
During  the  last  few  days,  however,  I  have  been  enabled 
to  go  back  once  more  to  the  half-forgotten  Past,  and  have 
experienced  once  more  the  Emotions  of  which  you  have 
robbed  Life.  I  have  seen  once  more,  after  many,  many 
years,  the  Fighting  Passion,  the  Passion  of  Private  Eights, 
and  " — his  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper — "  I  have  experi- 
enced once  more  the  Passion  of  Love."  He  stooped  and 
kissed  the  woman  Mildred  on  the  forehead.  "  I  regret 
that  we  did  not  succeed.  Had  we  not  been  caught,  we 
should  by  this  time  have  been  beyond  your  power — the 
Secret  with  us,  to  use  or  not,  as  we  pleased — with  a  com- 
pany strong  enough  to  defy  you,  and  with  the  old  Life 
again  before  us,  such  as  we  enjoyed  before  you  robbed  us 
of  it.  We  should  have  welcomed  the  old  Life,  even  under 
the  old  conditions:  we  welcome,  instead  of  it,  the  Thing 
which,  only  to  think  of,  makes  your  hearts  almost  to  stop 
beating  with  fear  and  horror." 


150  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

He  stopped.     That  was  a  speech  likely  to  win  iadul 
gence  from  the  Court,  was  it  not  ? 

I  turned  to  the  woman  Mildred. 

"  And  you  ?"  I  asked. 

"  What  have  I  to  say  ?  The  Present  I  loathe — I  loathe 
— I  loathe.  I  would  not  go  back  to  it  if  you  offered  me 
instant  release  with  that  condition.  I  have  found  Love. 
Let  me  die — let  me  die — let  me  die  !" 

She  clung  to  her  lover  passionately,  weeping  and  sob- 
bing. He  soothed  her  and  caressed  her.  John  Lax,  be- 
hind me,  snorted. 

Then  I  asked  the  girl  Christine  what  she  wished  to  say. 

She  laughed — she  actually  laughed. 

"  Oh  !"  she  said,  "  in  return  for  the  past  weeks,  there  is 
no  punishment  which  I  would  not  cheerfully  endure.  We 
have  had — oh !  the  most  delightful  time.  It  has  been 
like  a  dream.  Oh !  Cruel,  horrid,  wicked  men !  You 
found  such  a  Life  in  the  old  Time,  and  you  destroyed  it ; 
and  what  have  you  given  us  in  return  ?  You  have  made 
us  all  equal  who  were  born  unequal.  Go,  look  at  the  sad 
and  heavy  faces  of  the  People.  You  have  taken  away 
everything,  deliberately.  You  have  destroyed  all — all. 
You  have  left  nothing  worth  living  for.  Why,  I  am  like 
Mildred.  I  would  not  go  back  to  the  Present  again  if  I 
could!  Yes,  for  one  thing  I  would — to  try  and  raise  a 
Company  of  Men  —  not  sheep  —  and  hound  them  on  to 
storm  this  place,  and  to  kill — ^yes,  to  kill " — the  girl  looked 
so  dangerous  that  any  thought  of  mercy  was  impossible 
— "  every  one  who  belongs  to  this  Accursed  House  of 
Life !" 

Here  was  a  pretty  outcome  of  study  in  the  Museum ! 
Here  was  a  firebrand  let  loose  among  us  straight  from  the 
bad  old  Nineteenth  Century !  And  we  had  allowed  this 
girl  actually  to  grow  up  in  our  very  midst. 


THE   TRIAL   AND   SENTENCE.  151 

Well,  she  finished,  and  stood  trembling  with  rage, 
cheeks  burning,  eyes  flashing — a  very  fury. 

I  invited  the  Court  to  retire  to  the  Inner  House,  and 
took  their  opinions  one  by  one. 

They  were  unanimous  on  several  points — first,  that  the 
position  of  things  was  most  dangerous  to  the  Authority 
of  the  College  and  the  safety  of  the  People ;  next,  that 
the  punishment  of  Death  alone  would  meet  the  ease ; 
thirdly,  that,  in  future,  the  Museum,  with  the  Library  ■ 
and  Picture  Galleries,  must  be  incorporated  with  the  Col- 
lege itself,  so  that  this  danger  of  the  possible  awakening 
of  memory  should  be  removed. 

Here,  however,  our  unanimity  ceased.  For  the  Fellow, 
of  whom  I  have  already  spoken  as  having  always  followed 
the  Arch  Physician,  arose  and  again  insisted  that  what 
had  happened  to-day  might  very  well  happen  again :  that 
nothing  was  more  uncertain  in  its  action,  or  more  inde- 
structible, than  human  memory :  so  that,  from  time  to 
time,  we  must  look  for  the  arising  of  some  Leader  or 
Prophet  who  would  shake  up  the  people  and  bring  them 
out  of  their  torpor  to  a  state  of  discontent  and  yearning 
after  the  lost.  Wherefore  he  exhorted  us  to  reconsider 
our  Administration,  and  to  provide  some  safety-valve  for 
the  active  spirits.  As  to  the  Death  of  the  three  criminals, 
he  would  not,  he  could  not,  oppose  it.  He  proposed, 
however,  that  the  mode  of  Death  should  be  optional.  So 
great  a  light  of  Science  as  the  Arch  Physician  had  many 
secrets,  and  could  doubtless  procure  himself  sudden  and 
painless  death  if  he  chose.  Let  him  have  that  choice  for 
himself  and  his  companions ;  and,  as  regards  the  girl,  let 
her  be  cast  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  then  painlessly  smoth- 
ered by  gas,  without  a  sentence  being  pronounced  upon 
her  at  all.  This  leniency,  be  said,  was  demanded  by  her 
youth  and  her  inexperience. 


152  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

In  reply,  I  poioted  out  that,  as  regards  our  Administra- 
tion, we  were  not  then  considering  it  at  all :  that  as  for 
the  mode  of  punishment,  he  had  not  only  to  consider  the 
criminals,  but  also  the  People,  and  the  effect  of  the  Pun- 
ishment upon  them  :  we  were  not  only  to  punish,  but  also 
to  deter.  I  therefore  begged  the  Court  to  go  back  to  one 
of  the  former  methods,  and  to  one  of  the  really  horrible 
and  barbarous,  yet  comparatively  painless,  methods.  I 
showed  that  a  mere  report  or  announcement,  made  in  the 
Public  Hall,  that  the  Arch  Physician  had  been  executed 
for  Treason,  would  produce  little  or  no  effect  upon  the 
public  mind,  even  if  it  were  added  that  the  two  women, 
Mildred  and  Christine,  had  suffered  with  him :  that  our 
people  needed  to  see  the  thing  itself,  in  order  to  feel  its 
true  horror  and  to  remember  it.  If  Death  alone  were 
wanted,  I  argued,  there  were  dozens  of  ways  in  which 
Life  might  be  painlessly  extinguished.  But  it  was  not 
Death  alone  that  we  desired  ;  it  was  Terror  that  we  wished 
to  establish,  in  order  to  prevent  another  such  attempt. 

"  Let  them,"  I  concluded,  "  be  taken  forth  in  solemn 
Procession  to  the  open  space  before  the  Public  Hall ;  we 
ourselves  will  form  part  of  that  Procession.  Let  them  in 
that  place,  in  the  sight  of  all  the  People,  be  publicly  de- 
capitated by  the  Porter  of  the  House,  John  Lax." 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  opposition,  at  first,  to  this 
proposition,  because  it  seemed  barbarous  and  cruel ;  but 
the  danger  which  had  threatened  the  Authority — nay,  the 
very  existence — of  the  College,  caused  the  opposition  to 
give  way.  Why,  if  I  had  not  been  on  the  watch,  the  Se- 
cret would  have  been  gone :  the  College  would  have  been 
ruined.  It  was  due  to  me  that  my  proposals  should  be 
accepted.     The  sentence  was  agreed  upon. 

I  am  bound  to  confess  that,  on  being  brought  back  to 
receive  the  sentence  of  the  Court,  the  Prisoners  behaved 


THE    REBELS.  153 

with  unexpected  Fortitude.  The  male  criminal  turned  pale, 
but  only  for  a  moment,  and  the  two  women  caught  each 
other  by  the  hand.  But  they  offered  no  prayer  for  mercy. 
They  were  led  back  to  their  prison  in  the  South  Porch, 
until  the  necessary  Preparations  could  be  made. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   REBELS. 

It  is  useless  to  regret  a  thing  that  is  done  and  over; 
otherwise  one  might  very  bitterly  regret  two  or  three  steps 
in  these  proceedings.  At  the  same  time,  it  may  be  argued 
that  what  happened  was  the  exact  opposite  of  what  we  had 
every  reason  to  expect,  and  therefore  we  could  not  blame 
ourselves  with  the  event.  After  uncounted  years  of  blind 
obedience,  respect  for  authority,  and  unquestioning  sub- 
mission, had  we  not  a  full  right  to  expect  a  continuance 
of  the  same  spirit?  What  we  did  not  know  or  suspect 
was  the  violence  of  the  reaction  that  had  set  in.  Not  only 
had  these  revolutionaries  gone  back  to  the  Past,  but  to  the 
very  worst  traditions  of  the  Past.  They  had  not  only  be- 
come anxious  to  restore  these  old  traditions ;  they  had  ac- 
tually become  men  of  violence,  and  were  ready  to  back  up 
their  new  convictions  by  an  appeal  to  arms.  "We  ought 
to  have  arrested  the  conspirators  as  soon  as  they  assem- 
bled ;  we  ought  to  have  locked  them  up  in  the  Museum 
and  starved  them  into  submission  ;  we  ought  to  have  exe- 
cuted our  criminals  in  private  ;  in  short,  we  ought  to  have 
done  just  exactly  what  we  did  not  do. 

While  the  Trial  was  proceeding,  the  new  Party  of  Dis- 
order were,  as  John  Lax  reported,  gathered  together  in 
the  Museum,  considering  what  was  best  to  be  done. 


154:  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

They  now  knew  all.  When  John  Lax,  in  the  morning, 
arrested  the  girl  Christine,  by  my  orders,  he  told  her  in 
plain  language  what  had  already  happened. 

"  The  Arch  Physician  is  a  Prisoner,"  he  said.  "  He 
has  been  locked  up  all  night  in  my  room,  over  the  South 
Porch.  I  watched  below.  Ha!  If  he  had  tried  to  es- 
cape, my  instructions  were  to  knock  him  on  the  head. 
Arch  Physician  or  not.  The  woman  Mildred  is  a  Pris- 
oner, as  well.  She  was  locked  up  with  him.  They  may 
hold  each  other's  hands  and  look  into  each  other's  eyes,  in 
my  room,  as  much  as  they  please.  And  now,  young  wom- 
an, it  is  your  turn." 

"Mine?" 

"  Yours,  my  gal.     So  march  along  o'  me." 

"  Why,  what  have  I  done  that  I  should  be  arrested  ?" 

"  That  you  shall  hear.  March,  I  say.  You  are  my 
Prisoner.  You  will  stand  your  Trial — ah !"  He  smacked 
his  lips  to  show  his  satisfaction,  and  wagged  his  head.  He 
was  a  true  Child  of  the  People,  and  could  not  conceal  his 
gratification  at  the  discomfiture  of  traitors.  "  You  will 
hear  what  the  Court  has  to  say — ah  !"  Again  he  repeated 
this  sign  of  satisfaction.  "You  will  be  tried,  and  you 
will  hear  the  Sentence  of  the  Court — ah,  ah !  Do  you 
know  what  it  will  be  ?  Death  !"  he  wliispered.  "  Death 
for  all !  I  see  the  sentence  in  the  Suffragan's  face.  Oh  ! 
he  means  it." 

The  girl  heard  without  reply;  but  her  cheeks  turned 
pale. 

"You  won't  mind  much,"  he  went  on.  "You  hardly 
know  what  it  is  to  live.  You  haven't  been  alive  long 
enough  to  feel  what  it  means.  You're  only  a  chit  of  a 
girl.  If  it  wasn't  for  the  example,  I  dare  say  they  would 
let  you  off.  But  they  won't — they  won't.  Don't  try  it 
on.      Don't  think  of  going  on  your  knees,  or  anything 


THE   REBELS.  155 

else.     Don't  go  weeping  or  crying.     The  Court  is  as  hard 
as  nails." 

The  honest  fellow  said  this  in  his  zeal  for  justice,  and 
in  the  hope  that  nothing  should  be  said  or  done  which 
might  avert  just  punishment.  Otherwise,  had  this  girl, 
who  was,  after  all,  young  and  ignorant,  thrown  herself 
fully  and  frankly  upon  our  mercy,  perhaps — I  do  not  say 
— some  of  us  might  have  been  disposed  to  spare  her.  As 
it  was — but  you  have  seen. 

"  We  waste  time,"  he  said.     "  March !" 

She  was  dressed,  as  I  have  already  related,  in  a  masquer- 
ade white  dress  of  the  old  time,  with  I  know  not  what  of 
ribbon  round  her  waist,  and  wore  her  hair  floating  down 
her  back. 

The  old  man — her  grandfather,  as  she  called  him — sat 
in  his  arm-chair,  looking  on  and  coughing.  John  Lax 
paid  no  attention  to  him  at  all. 

"Good -by,  grandad,"  she  said,  kissing  him.  "You 
will  not  see  me  any  more,  because  they  are  going  to  kill 
me.  You  will  find  your  inhaler  in  its  place ;  but  I  am 
afraid  you  will  have  to  manage  for  the  future  without  any 
help.  No  one  helps  anybody  in  this  beautiful  Present. 
They  are  going  to  kill  me.  Do  you  understand?  Poor 
old  man  !     Good-by  !" 

She  kissed  him  again  and  walked  away  with  John  Lax 
through  tlie  Picture  Gallery,  and  so  into  the  College  Gar- 
dens, and  by  the  north  postern  into  the  House  of  Life. 

"When  she  was  gone  the  old  man  looked  about  him  fee- 
bly. Then  he  began  to  understand  what  had  happened. 
His  grandchild,  the  nurse  and  stay  of  his  feebleness,  was 
gone  from  him.     She  was  going  to  be  killed. 

He  was  reckoned  a  very  stupid  old  man  always.  To 
keep  the  cases  in  the  Museum  free  from  dust  was  all  that 


156  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

he  could  do.  But  the  revival  of  the  Past  acted  upon  him 
as  it  had  acted  upon  the  others:  it  took  him  out  of  his 
torpor  and  quickened  his  perceptions. 

"  Killed  ?"  he  cried.     "  My  grandchild  to  be  killed  ?" 

He  was  not  so  stupid  as  not  to  know  that  there  were 
possible  protectors  for  her,  if  he  could  find  them  in  time. 
Then  he  seized  his  stick  and  hurried  as  fast  as  his  totter- 
ing limbs  would  carry  him  to  the  nearest  field,  where  he 
knew  the  sailor,  named  John,  or  Jack,  Carera,  was  em- 
ployed for  the  time  among  the  peas  and  beans. 

"Jack  Carera!"  he  cried,  looking  wildly  about  him  and 
flourishing  with  his  stick.  "  Jack !  they  are  going  to  kill 
her !  Jack — Jack  Carera ! — I  say,"  he  repeated.  "  Where 
is  Jack  Carera?  Call  him,  somebody.  They  are  going 
to  kill  her!  They  have  taken  my  child  a  prisoner  to  the 
House  of  Life.  I  say  Jack — Jack!  "Where  is  he?  Where 
is  he?" 

The  men  were  working  in  gangs.  Nobody  paid  the 
least  heed  to  the  old  man.  They  looked  up,  saw  an  old 
man — his  hat  blown  off,  his  long  white  liair  waving  in  the 
wind  —  brandishing  wildly  his  stick,  and  shrieking  for 
Jack.  Then  they  went  on  with  their  work ;  it  was  no 
business  of  theirs.  Docile,  meek,  and  unquestioning  are 
the  People. 

By  accident,  however.  Jack  was  within  hearing,  and 
presently  ran  across  the  field. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  he  cried.     "  What  has  happened  ?" 

"  They  have  taken  prisoner,"  the  old  man  gasped,  "  the 
—  the — Arch  Physician — and  —  Lady  Mildred —  They 
are  going  to  try  them  to-day  before  the  College  of  Physi- 
cians. And  now  they  have  taken  my  girl — my  Christine 
— and  they  will  try  her  too.  They  will  try  them  all,  and 
they  will  kill  them  all." 

"  That  shall  be  seen,"  said  Jack,  a  fierce  look  in  his  eyes. 


THE   REBELS.  157 

"Go  back  to  the  Museum,  old  man,  and  wait  for  me. 
Keep  quiet,  if  you  can  :  wait  for  me." 

In  half  an  hour  he  had  collected  together  the  whole  of 
the  company,  men  and  women,  which  formed  their  Party. 
They  were  thirty  in  number,  and  they  came  in  from  work 
in  the  Kegulation  Dress. 

The  sailor  briefly  related  what  had  happened. 
" _\ow,''  he  said,  '' before  we  do  anything  more,  let  us 
put  on  the  dress  of  the  nineteenth  century.     That  will 
help  us  to  remember  that  our  future  depends  upon  our- 
selves, and  will  put  heart  in  us.'' 
This  done,  he  made  them  a  speech. 
First,  he  reminded  them  how,  by  the  help  of  one  girl 
alone,  the  memory  of  the  Past  had  been  restored  to  them  ; 
next,  he  bade  them  keep  in  their  minds  the  whole  of  that 
Past— every  portion  of  it— and  to  brace  up  their  courage 
with  the  thought  of  it— how  delightful  and  desirable  it 
was.     And  then  he  exhorted  them  to  think  of  the  Pres- 
ent, which  he  called  loathsome,  shameful,  vile,  and  other 
bad  names. 

"  We  are  in  the  gravest  crisis  of  our  fortunes,"  he  con- 
cluded. "On  our  action  this  day  depends  our  whole 
future.  Either  we  emerge  from  this  crisis  free  men  and 
women,  or  we  sink  back  into  the  Present,  dull  and  dismal, 
without  hope  and  without  thought.  K^ay,  there  is  more. 
If  we  do  not  rescue  ourselves,  we  shall  be  very  speedily 
finished  off  by  the  College.  Do  you  think  they  will  ever 
foro-ive  us?  Kot  so.  As  they  deal  with  the  Arch  Phy- 
sician and  these  two  ladies,  so  they  will  deal  with  us. 
Better  so.  Better  a  thousand  times  to  suffer  Death  at 
once,  than  to  fall  back  into  that  wretched  condition  to 
which  we  were  reduced.  "Wliat !  You,  who  have  learned 
once  more  what  is  meant  by  Love,  will  you  give  that  up? 
"Will  you  give  up  these  secret  assemblies  where  we  revive 


158  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

the  glorious  Past,  and  feel  again  the  old  thoughts  and  the 
old  ambitions?  J^ever — swear  with  me — never!  never! 
never !" 

They  shouted  together ;  they  waved  their  hands ;  they 
were  resolved.  The  men's  eyes  were  alive  again  ;  in  short, 
they  were  back  again  to  the  Past  of  their  young  days. 

"  First,"  said  Jack,  "  let  us  arm." 

He  led  them  to  a  part  of  the  Museum  where  certain  old 
weapons  stood  stacked.  Thanks  to  the  Curator  and  to 
Christine,  they  had  been  kept  bright  and  clear  from  rust 
by  the  application  of  oil. 

"  Here  are  swords,  lances,  rifles — but  we  have  no  am- 
munition— bayonets.  Let  us  take  the  rifles  and  bayonets. 
So.  To  every  man  one.  ISTow,  the  time  presses.  The 
Trial  is  going  on.  It  may  be  too  late  in  a  few  minutes 
to  save  the  prisoners.     Let  us  resolve." 

Two  plans  suggested  themselves  at  once.  The  first  of 
these  was  to  rush  before  the  House  of  Life,  break  open 
the  gates,  and  tear  th«  prisoners  from  the  hands  of  the 
Judges.  The  next  was  to  ascertain,  somehow,  what  was 
being  done.  The  former  counsel  prevailed,  and  the  men 
were  already  making  ready  for  the  attack  when  the  great 
Bell  of  the  House  began  to  toll  solemnly. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  cried  the  women,  shuddering. 

It  went  on  tolling,  at  regular  intervals  of  a  quarter  of  a 
minute.     It  was  the  knell  for  three  persons  about  to  die. 

Then  the  doors  of  the  South  Porch  flew  open,  and  one 
of  the  Bedells  came  forth. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?"  they  asked. 

The  Bedell  walked  across  the  great  Garden  and  began 
to  ring  the  Bell  of  the  Public  Hall — the  Dinner  Bell. 

Instantly  the  People  began  to  flock  in  from  the  work- 
shops and  the  fields,  from  all  quarters,  in  obedience  to  a 
summons  rarely  issued.     They  flocked  in  slowly,  and  with- 


THE   REBELS.  159 

out  the  least  animation,  showing  not  the  faintest  interest 
in  the  proceedings.  No  doubt  there  was  something  or 
other — it  mattered  not  what — ordered  by  the  College. 

"  Go,  somebody,"  cried  Jack — "  go,  Hilda,"  he  turned  to 
one  of  the  girls;  "slip  on  your  working  dress;  run  and 
find  out  what  is  being  done.  Oh  !  if  we  are  too  late,  they 
shall  pay — they  shall  pay !  Courage,  men !  Here  are 
fifteen  of  us,  well-armed  and  stout.  "We  are  equal  to  the 
whole  of  that  coward  mob.     Run,  Hilda,  run  !" 

Hilda  pushed  her  way  through  the  crowd. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  asked  the  Bedell,  eagerly.  "  What 
has  happened  ?" 

"You  shall  hear,"  he  replied.  "The  most  dreadful 
thing  that  can  happen — a  thing  that  has  not  happened 
since —  .  .  .  But  you  will  hear." 

He  waited  a  little  longer,  until  all  seemed  to  be  assem- 
bled. Then  he  stood  upon  a  garden-bench  and  lifted  up 
his  voice : 

"  Listen  !  listen  !  listen  !"  he  cried.  "  By  order  of  the 
Holy  College,  listen !  Know  ye  all  that,  for  his  crimes 
and  treacheries,  the  Arch  Physician  has  been  deposed- 
from  his  sacred  office.  Know  ye  all  that  he  is  condemned 
to  die."  There  was  here  a  slight  movement — a  shiver — 
as  of  a  wood,  on  a  still  autumn  day,  at  the  first  breath  of 
the  wind.  "  He  is  condemned  to  die.  He  will  be  brought 
out  without  delay,  and  will  be  executed  in  the  sight  of  the 
whole  People."  Here  they  trembled.  "  There  are  also 
condemned  with  him,  as  accomplices  in  his  guilt,  two 
women — named  respectively  Mildred,  or  Mildred  Carera 
in  the  old  style,  and  the  girl  Christine.  Listen  !  listen  ! 
listen !  It  is  forbidden  to  any  either  to  leave  the  place 
during  the  time  of  punishment,  or  to  interfere  in  order  to 
stay  punishment,  or  in  any  way  to  move  or  meddle  in  the 
matter.     Listen  !     Listen  !    Long  live  the  Holy  College !" 


160  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

With  that  he  descended  and  made  his  way  back  to  the 
House.     But  Hilda  ran  to  the  Museum  with  the  news. 

"  Why,"  said  Jack,  '•  what  could  happen  better  ?  In  the 
House,  no  one  knows  what  devilry  of  electricity  and  stuff 
they  may  have  ready  to  hand.  Here,  in  the  open,  we  can 
defy  them.  Nothing  remains  but  to  wait  imtil  the  pris- 
oners are  brought  out,  and  then — then,"  he  gasped,  "re- 
member what  we  were.  Geoffrey,  you  wear  the  old  uni- 
form. Let  the  spirit  of  your  old  regiment  fire  your  heart 
again.  Ay,  ay,  you  will  do.  Now,  let  us  a  drill  a  little 
and  practice  fighting  together,  shoulder  to  shoulder.  Why, 
we  are  invincible." 

Said  I  not  that  we  might,  if  we  ever  regretted  any- 
thing, regret  that  we  did  not  lock  these  conspirators  in 
the  Museum  before  we  brought  out  our  prisoners  to  their 
death  ? 

The  great  Bell  of  the  House  tolled ;  the  People  stood 
about  in  their  quiet  way,  looking  on,  apparently  unmoved, 
while  the  carpenters  quickly  hammered  together  a  scaf- 
fold some  six  feet  high. 

Well.  I  confess  it.  The  whole  business  was  a  mis- 
take :  the  People  were  gone  lower  down  than  I  had  ever 
hoped :  save  for  the  shudder  which  naturally  seized  them 
on  mention  of  the  word  Death,  they  showed  no  sign  of 
concern.  If,  even  then,  I  had  gone  forth  to  see  how  they 
took  it,  I  mio-ht  have  reversed  the  order,  and  carried  out 
the  execution  within.  They  wanted  no  lesson.  Their  Past, 
if  it  were  once  revived,  would  for  the  most  part  be  a  past 
of  such  struggling  for  life,  and  so  much  misery,  that  it 
was  not  likely  they  would  care  to  revive  it.  Better  the 
daily  course,  unchanged,  unchangeable.  Yet  we  know 
not.  As  my  colleague  in  the  House  said,  the  memory  is 
perhaps  a  thing  indestructible.  At  a  touch,  at  a  flash  of 
light,  the  whole  of  their  minds   might  be  lit  up  again; 


THE   EXECUTION.  161 

and  the  emotions,  remembered  and  restored,  might  again 
seem  what  once  tliey  seemed,  worth  living  for. 

Still  the  great  Bell  tolled,  and  the  carpenters  hammered, 
and  the  scaffold,  strong  and  high,  stood  waiting  for  the 
criminals;  and  on  the  scaffold  a  block,  brought  from  the 
butcher^s  shop.  But  the  People  said  not  a  single  word  to 
each  other,  waiting,  like  sheep — only,  unlike  sheep,  they 
did  not  huddle  together.  In  the  chamber  over  the  Porch 
the  prisoners  awaited  the  completion  of  the  preparations; 
and  in  the  Museum  the  fifteen  conspirators  stood  waiting, 
armed  and  ready  for  their  Deed  of  Violence. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   EXECUTION. 


As  the  clock  struck  two,  a  messenger  brought  the  news 
that  the  Preparations  were  complete. 

The  College  was  still  sitting  in  Council.  One  of  the 
Physicians  proposed  that  before  the  Execution  the  Arch 
Physician  should  be  brought  before  us  to  be  subjected  to 
a  last  examination.  I  saw  no  use  for  this  measure,  but  I 
did  not  oppose  it;  and  presently  John  Lax,  armed  with 
his  sharpened  axe,  brought  the  Prisoners  before  the  Con- 
clave of  his  late  brethren, 

'•Dr.  Linister,"  I  said,  "before  we  start  upon  that 
Procession  from  which  you  will  not  return,  have  you 
any  communication  to  make  to  the  College?  Your  Pe- 
searches — " 

"  They  are  all  in  order,  properly  drawn  up,  arranged  in 
columns,  and  indexed,"  he  replied.     "I  trust  they  will 
prove  to  advance  the  Cause  of  Science — true  Scienco — • 
not  the  degradation  of  Humanity." 
11 


162  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

"  Such  as  they  are,  we  shall  use  them,"  I  replied,  "  ac- 
cording to  the  Wisdom  of  the  College.  Is  there  anything 
else  you  wish  to  communicate?  Are  there  ideas  in  your 
brain  which  you  would  wish  to  write  down  before  you 
die  ?  Remember,  in  a  few  minutes  you  will  be  a  senseless 
lump  of  clay,  rolling  round  and  round  the  world  forever, 
like  all  the  other  lumps  which  form  the  crust  of  the 
Earth.'' 

"I  have  nothing  more  to  communicate.  Perhaps, 
Suffragan,  you  are  wrong  about  the  senseless  lumps  of 
clay.  And  now,  if  you  please,  do  not  delay  the  end 
longer,  for  the  sake  of  those  poor  girls  waiting  in  sus- 
pense." 

I  could  have  wished  more  outward  show  of  horror — 
prayers  for  forgiveness.  ]S'o :  Dr.  Linister  was  always,  in 
his  own  mind,  an  Aristocrat.  The  aristocratic  spirit! 
How  it  survives  even  after  the  whole  of  the  Past  might 
have  been  supposed  to  be  forgotten.  Well :  he  was  a  tall 
and  manly  man,  and  he  looked  a  born  leader — a  good 
many  of  them  in  the  old  days  used  to  have  that  look. 
For  my  own  part,  I  am  short  and  black  of  face.  No  one 
would  call  me  a  leader  born.  But  I  deposed  the  Aristo- 
crat.    And  as  for  him — what  has  become  of  him  ? 

"  What  would  you  have  done  for  the  People  ?"  I  asked 
him,  "  that  would  have  been  better  for  them  than  forget- 
fulness  and  freedom  from  pain  and  anxiety  ?  You  have 
always  opposed  the  Majority.  Tell  us,  at  this  supreme 
moment,  what  you  would  have  done  for  them." 

"  I  know  not  now,"  he  replied.  "  A  month  ago  I  should 
have  told  you  that  I  would  have  revived  the  ancient  or- 
der ;  I  would  have  given  the  good  things  of  the  world  to 
them  who  were  strong  enough  to  win  them  in  the  strug- 
gle :  hard  work,  bad  food,  low  condition  should  have  been, 
as  it  used  to  be,  the  lot  of  the  incompetent.     I  would  have 


THE   EXECUTION.  163 

recognized  in  women  their  instinct  for  fine  dress ;  I  would 
have  encouraged  the  revival  of  Love :  I  would  have  re- 
stored the  Arts.     But  now — now — " 

"Now,"  I  said,  "that  you  have  begun  to  make  the  at- 
tempt, you  recognize  at  last  that  there  is  nothing  better 
for  them  all  than  forgetfulness  and  freedom  from  anxiety, 
struggle,  and  thought." 

"  Not  so,"  he  replied.  "  Not  at  all.  I  understand  that 
unless  the  Spirit  of  Man  mounts  higher  continually,  the 
earthly  things  must  grow  stale  and  tedious,  and  so  must 
perish.  Yea:  all  the  things  which  once  we  thought  so 
beautiful — Music,  Art,  Letters,  Philosophy,  Love,  Society 
— they  must  all  wither  and  perish,  if  Life  be  prolonged, 
unless  the  Spirit  is  borne  continually  upward.  And  this 
we  have  not  tried  to  effect." 

"  The  Spirit  of  Man  ?  I  thought  that  old  superstition 
was  cleared  away  and  done  with  long  ago.  I  have  never 
found  the  Spirit  in  my  Laboratory.     Have  you  ?" 

"  No,  I  have  not.     That  is  not  the  place  to  find  it." 

"  Well.     Since  you  have  changed  your  mind — " 

"  With  us,  the  Spirit  of  Man  has  been  sinking  lower 
and  lower,  till  it  is  clean  forgotten.  Man  now  lives  for 
himself  alone.  The  Triumph  of  Science,  Suffragan,  is 
yours.  No  more  death ;  no  more  pain ;  no  more  am- 
bition :  equality  absolute  and  the  ultimate  lump  of  human 
flesh,  incorruptible,  breathing,  sleeping,  absorbing  food, 
living.     Science  can  do  no  more." 

"  I  am  glad,  even  at  this  last  moment,  to  receive  this 
submission  of  your  opinions." 

"But,"  he  said,  his  eye  flashing,  "remember.  The 
Spirit  of  Man  only  sleeps:  it  doth  not  die.  Such  an 
awakening  as  you  have  witnessed  among  a  few  of  us  will 
some  day — by  an  accident,  by  a  trick  of  memory — how 
do  I  know  ?  by  a  Dream  !  fly  through  the  heads  of  these 


164  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

poor  helpless  sheep  and  turn  them  again  into  Men  and 
Women,  who  will  rend  you.     Now  take  me  away." 

It  is  pleasant  to  my  self-esteem,  I  say,  to  record  that 
one  who  was  so  great  an  inquirer  into  the  Secrets  of  Nat- 
ure should  at  such  a  moment  give  way  and  confess  that  I 
was  right  in  my  administration  of  the  People.  Pity  that 
he  should  talk  the  old  nonsense.  Why,  I  learned  to  de- 
spise it  in  the  old  days  when  I  was  a  boy  and  listened  to 
the  fiery  orators  of  the  Whitechapel  Poad. 

The  Procession  was  formed.  It  was  like  that  of  the 
Daily  March  to  the  Public  Hall,  with  certain  changes. 
One  of  them  was  that  the  Arch  Physician  now  walked  in 
the  middle  instead  of  at  the  end ;  he  was  no  more  clothed 
in  the  robes  of  ofiice,  but  in  the  strange  and  unbecoming 
ojarb  in  which  he  was  arrested.  Before  him  walked  the 
two  women.  They  held  a  book  between  them,  brought 
out  of  the  Library  by  Christine,  and  one  of  them  read 
aloud.  It  was,  I  believe,  part  of  the  incantation  or  fetish 
worship  of  the  old  time  :  and  as  they  read,  the  tears  rolled 
down  their  cheeks;  yet  they  did  not  seem  to  be  afraid. 

Before  the  Prisoners  marched  John  Lax,  bearing  the 
dreadful  axe,  which  he  had  now  polished  until  it  was  like 
a  mirror  or  a  laboratory  tool  for  brightness.  And  on  his 
face  there  still  shone  'the  honest  satisfaction  of  one  whose 
heart  is  joyed  to  execute  punishment  upon  traitors.  He 
showed  this  joy  in  a  manner  perhaps  unseemly  to  the 
gravity  of  the  occasion,  grinning  as  he  walked  and  feel- 
ing the  edge  of  the  axe  with  his  fingers. 

The  way  seemed  long.  I,  for  one,  was  anxious  to  get 
the  business  over  and  done  with.  I  was  oppressed  by  cer- 
tain fears — or  doubts — as  if  something  would  happen. 
Along  the  way  on  either  side  stood  the  People,  ranged  in 
order,  silent,  dutiful,  stupid.  I  scanned  their  faces  narrow- 
ly as  I  walked.     In  most  there  was  not  a  gleam  of  intelli- 


THE    EXECUTION.  165 

gence.  They  understood  nothing.  Here  and  there  a  face 
which  showed  a  spark  of  uneasiness  or  terror.  For  the 
most  part,  nothing.  I  began  to  understand  that  we  had 
made  a  bhmder  in  holding  a  Public  Execution.  If  it  was 
meant  to  impress  the  People,  it  failed  to  do  so.  That  was 
certain,  so  far. 

What  happened  immediately  afterwards  did,  however, 
impress  them  as  much  as  they  could  be  impressed. 

Immediately  in  front  of  the  Public  Hall  stood  the 
newly-erected  scaffold.  It  was  about  six  feet  high,  with 
a  low  hand-rail  round  it,  and  it  was  draped  in  black.  The 
block  stood  in  the  middle. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  Executioner  should  first  mount 
the  scaffold  alone,  there  to  await  the  criminals.  The  Col- 
lege of  Physicians  were  to  sit  in  a  semicircle  of  seats  ar- 
ranged for  them  on  one  side  of  it,  the  Bedells  standing 
behind  them  ;  the  Assistants  of  the  College  were  arranged 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  scaffold.  The  first  to  suffer 
was  to  be  the  girl  Christine.  The  second,  the  woman 
Mildred.  Last,  the  greatest  criminal  of  the  three,  the 
Arch  Pliysician  himself. 

The  first  part  of  the  programme  was  perfectly  carried 
out.  John  Lax,  clothed  in  red,  big  and  burly,  his  red 
face  glowing,  stood  on  the  scaffold  beside  the  block,  lean- 
ing on  the  dreadful  axe.  The  Sacred  College  were  seated 
in  their  places;  the  Bedells  stood  behind  them;  the  As- 
sistants sat  on  the  other  side.  The  Prisoners  stood  before 
the  College.  So  far  all  went  well.  Then  I  rose  and  read 
in  a  loud  voice  the  Crimes  which  had  been  committed 
and  the  sentence  of  the  Court.  When  I  concluded  I 
looked  around.  There  was  a  vast  sea  of  heads  before  me. 
In  the  midst  I  observed  some  kind  of  commotion  as  of 
people  who  were  pushing  to  the  front.  It  was  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Museum.     But  this  I  hardly  noticed,  my 


166  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

mind  being  full  of  the  Example  which  was  about  to  be 
made.  As  for  the  immobility  of  the  People's  faces,  it 
was  something  trulj  wonderful. 

"  Let  the  woman  Christine,"  I  cried,  "  mount  the  scaf- 
fold and  meet  her  doom  !" 

The  girl  threw  herself  into  the  arms  of  the  other  wom- 
an, and  they  kissed  each  other.  Then  she  tore  herself 
away,  and  the  next  moment  she  would  have  mounted  the 
steps  and  knelt  before  the  block,  but  .  .  . 

The  confusion  which  had  sprung  up  in  the  direction  of 
the  Museum  increased  suddenly  to  a  tumult.  Eight  and 
left  the  people  parted,  flying  and  shrieking.  And  there 
came  ruiming  through  the  lane  thus  formed  a  company 
of  men,  dressed  in  fantastic  garments  of  various  colors, 
armed  with  ancient  weapons,  and  crying  aloud,  "  To  the 
Rescue  !     To  the  Rescue  !" 

Then  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  amazed.  Was  it  possible — 
could  it  be  possible — that  the  Holy  College  of  Physicians 
should  be  actually  defied  ? 

It  was  possible ;  more,  it  was  exactly  what  these 
wretched  persons  proposed  to  dare  and  to  do. 

As  for  what  followed,  it  took  but  a  moment.  The  men 
burst  into  the  circle  thus  armed  and  thus  determined. 
We  all  sprang  to  our  feet  and  recoiled.  But  there  was 
one  who  met  them  with  equal  courage  and  defiance. 
Had  there  been — but  how  could  there  be  ? — any  more,  we 
should  have  made  a  wholesome  example  of  the  Rebels. 

John  Lax  was  this  one. 

He  leaped  from  the  scaffold  with  a  roar  like  a  lion,  and 
threw  himself  upon  the  men  who  advanced,  swinging  his 
heavy  axe  around  him  as  if  it  had  been  a  walking-stick. 
No  wild  beast  deprived  of  its  prey  could  have  presented 
such  a  terrible  appearance.  Bafiied  revenge — rage — the 
thirst  for  battle — all  showed  themselves  in  this  giant  as 


THE   EXECUTION.  1C7 

he  turned  a  fearless  front  to  his  enemies  and  swung  his 
terrible  axe. 

I  thought  the  rebels  would  have  run.  They  wavered ; 
they  fell  back ;  then  at  a  word  from  their  leader— it  was 
none  other  than  the  dangerous  man,  the  sailor  called  Jack, 
or  John,  Carera — they  closed  in  and  stood  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  every  man  holding  his  weapon  in  readiness. 
They  were  armed  with  the  ancient  weapon  called  the  rifle, 
with  a  bayonet  thrust  in  at  the  end  of  it. 

"Close  in,  my  men;  stand  firm!"  shouted  the  sailor. 
"  Leave  John  Lax  to  me.  Ho  !  ho  I  John  Lax,  you  and  I 
will  tight  this  out.  I  know  you.  You  were  the  spy  who 
did  the  mischief.  Come  on.  Stand  firm,  my  men ;  and 
if  I  fall,  make  a  speedy  end  of  this  spy  and  rescue  the 
Prisoners." 

He  sprang  to  the  front,  and  for  a  moment  the  two  men 
confronted  each  other.  Then  John  Lax,  with  another 
roar,  swung  his  axe.  Had  it  descended  upon  the  sailor's 
head,  there  would  have  been  an  end  of  him.  But — I 
know  little  of  fighting ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  fellow 
was  a  coward.  For  he  actually  leaped  lightly  back  and 
dodged  the  blow.  Then,  when  the  axe  had  swung  round  so 
as  to  leave  his  adversary's  side  in  a  defenceless  position, 
this  disgraceful  coward  leaped  forward  and  took  a  shame- 
ful advantage  of  this  accident,  and  drove  his  bayonet  up 
to  the  hilt  in  the  unfortunate  Executioner's  body ! 

John  Lax  dropped  his  axe,  threw  up  his  arms,  and  fell 
heavily  backwards.  He  was  dead.  He  was  killed  instan- 
taneously. Anything  more  terrible,  more  murderous,  more 
cowardly,  I  never  witnessed.  I  know,  I  say,  little  of  fight- 
ing and  war.  But  this,  I  must  always  maintain,  was  a  foul 
blow.  John  Lax  had  aimed  his  stroke  and  missed,  it  is 
true,  owing  to  the  cowardly  leap  of  his  enemy  out  of  the 
way.     But  in  the  name  of  common  fairness  his  adversary 


168  THE  INNER  HOUSE. 

should  have  permitted  him  to  resume  his  fighting  position. 
As  it  was,  he  only  waited,  cowardly,  till  the  heavy  axe 
swinging  round  exposed  John's  side,  and  then  stepped  in 
and  took  his  advantage.     This  I  call  murder,  and  not  war. 

John  Lax  was  quite  dead.  Oar  brave  and  zealous  ser- 
vant was  dead.  He  lay  on  his  back;  there  was  a,  little 
pool  of  blood  on  the  ground  :  his  clothes  were  stained 
with  blood  :  his  face  was  already  white.  Was  it  possible? 
Our  servant — the  sacred  servant  of  the  Holy  House — was 
dead  !  He  had  been  killed !  A  servant  of  the  Holy  Col- 
leo-e  had  been  killed !  What  next  ?  What  dreadful  thing 
would  follow?     And  the  Criminals  were  rescued ! 

By  this  time  we  were  all  standing  bewildered,  horrified, 
in  an  undignified  crowd.  Fellows  and  Assistants  together. 
Then  I  spoke,  but  I  fear  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  Men !"  I  said.  "  Know  you  what  you  do  ?  Go  back 
to  the  place  whence  you  came,  and  await  the  punishment 
due  to  your  crime.     Back,  I  say  !" 

"  Form  in  Square,"  ordered  the  murderer,  paying  no 
heed  at  all  to  my  commands. 

The  Rebels  arranged  themselves--as  if  they  had  re- 
hearsed the  thing  for  weeks — every  man  with  his  weapon 
ready  :  five  on  a  side,  forming  three  sides  of  a  square,  of 
which  the  scaffold  formed  the  fourth.  AVithin  the  Square 
stood  the  three  prisoners. 

"O  Jack!"  cried  Christine.  "We  never  dreamed  of 
this." 

"  O  Harry !"  murmured  Mildred,  falling  into  the  arms 
of  the  rescued  Dr.  Linister.  At  such  a  moment,  the 
first  thing  they  thought  of  was  this  new-found  love. 
And  yet  there  are  some  who  have  maintained  that  human 
nature  could  have  been  continued  by  Science  on  the  old 
lines!  Folly  at  the  bottom  of  everything!  Folly  and 
Vanity ! 


THE   EXECUTION.  169 

"Sir,"  the  Sailor  man  addressed  Dr.  Linister,  "you  are 
now  our  Chief.     Take  this  sword  and  tlie  command." 

He  threw  a  crimson  sash  over  the  shoulders  of  him  who 
but  a  minute  before  was  waiting  to  be  executed,  and 
placed  in  his  hands  a  drawn  sword. 

Then  the  Chief — I  am  bound  to  say  that  he  looked  as 
if  he  were  born  to  command — mounted  the  scaffold  and 
looked  round  with  eyes  of  authority. 

"  Let  the  poor  People  be  dismissed,"  he  said.  "  Bid 
them  disperse — go  home — go  to  walk,  and  to  rest  or  sleep, 
or  anything  that  is  left*  in  the  unhappy  blank  that  we  call 
their  mind." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  College. 

"  There  were  some  among  3'ou,  my  former  Brethren," 
he  said,  "  who  in  times  past  were  friends  of  my  own.  You 
voted  with  me  against  the  degradation  of  the  People,  but 
in  vain.  We  have  often  communed  together  on  the  in- 
sufficiency of  Science  and  the  unwisdom  of  the  modern 
methods.  Come  out  from  the  College,  my  friends,  and 
join  us.  We  have  the  Great  Secret,  and  we  have  all  the 
knowledge  of  Science  that  there  is.  Cast  in  your  lot  with 
mine." 

Five  or  six  of  the  Fellows  stepped  forth — they  were 
those  who  had  always  voted  for  the  Arch  Physician — 
among  them  was  the  man  who  had  spoken  on  the  uncer- 
tainty of  memory.  These  were  admitted  within  the  line 
of  armed  men.  Nay,  their  gowns  of  office  were  taken 
from  them  and  they  presently  received  weapons.  About 
twenty  or  thirty  of  the  Assistants  also  fell  out  and  were 
admitted  to  the  ranks  of  the  Ilebels. 

"There  come  no  more?"  asked  the  Chief.  "Well, 
choose  for  yourselves.  Captain  Heron,  make  the  crowd 
stand  back— clear  them  away  with  the  butt  ends  of  your 
rifles,  if  they  will  not  go  when  they  are  told.     So.     Xow 


170  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

let  the  rest  of  the  College  return  to  the  House.  Captain 
Carera,  take  ten  men  and  drive  them  back.  Let  the  first 
who  stops,  or  endeavors  to  make  the  others  stop,  or  at- 
tempts to  address  the  people,  be  rnn  through,  as  you  de- 
spatched the  man  John  Lax.  Fellows  and  Assistants  of 
the  College — back  to  the  place  whence  you  came.  Back, 
as  quickly  as  may  be,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you." 

The  ten  men  stepped  out  with  lowered  bayonets.  We 
saw  them  approaching  with  murder  in  their  eyes,  and  we 
turned  and  fled.  It  was  not  a  retreat :  it  was  a  helter- 
skelter  run — one  over  the  other.  If  one  fell,  the  savage 
Rebels  prodded  him  in  fleshy  parts  and  roared  with  laugh- 
ter. Fellows,  Assistants,  and  Bedells  alike — we  fell  over 
each  other,  elbowing  and  fighting,  until  we  found  our- 
selves at  last — some  with  bleeding  noses,  some  with  black 
eyes,  some  with  broken  ribs,  all  with  torn  gowns — within 
the  House  of  Life. 

The  Rebels  stood  outside  the  South  Porch,  laughing  at 
our  discomfiture. 

"  Wardens  of  the  Great  Secret,"  said  Captain  Carera, 
"you  have  no  longer  any  Secret  to  guard.  Meantime, 
until  the  pleasure  of  the  Chief,  and  the  Sentence  of  the 
Court  is  pronounced,  remember.  He  w'ho  endeavors  to 
escape  from  the  House  will  assuredly  meet  his  death. 
Think  of  John  Lax,  and  do  not  dare  to  resist  the  author- 
ity of  the  Army." 

Then  he  shut  the  door  upon  us  and  locked  it,  and  we 
heard  the  footsteps  of  the  men  as  they  marched  away  in 
order. 

This,  then,  was  the  result  of  my  most  fatal  error. 
Had  we,  as  we  might  so  easily  have  done,  executed  our 
prisoners  in  the  House  itself,  and  locked  up  the  Rebels  in 
the  Museum,  these  evils  would  not  have  happened.  It  is 
futile  to  regret  the  past,  which  can  never  be  undone.     But 


PRISONERS.  171 

it  is  impossible  not  to  regret  a  blunder  which  produced 
such  fatal  results. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

PRISONERS. 


Thus,  then,  were  the  tables  turned  upon  us.  We  were 
locked  up,  prisoners— actually  the  Sacred  College,  prison- 
ers— in  the  House  of  Life  itself,  and  the  Great  Secret  was 
probably  by  this  time  in  the  hands  of  the  Rebels,  to  whom 
the  Arch  Traitor  had  no  doubt  given  it,  as  he  had  pro- 
posed to  do  when  we  arrested  him.  Lost  to  us  forever! 
AVhat  would  become  of  the  College  when  the  Great  Mys- 
tery was  lost  to  it  ?  Where  would  be  its  dignity  ?  Where 
its  authority  ? 

The  first  question  —we  read  it  in  each  other's  eyes  without 
asking  it — was,  however,  not  what  would  become  of  our 
authority,  but  of  ourselves.  What  were  they  going  to  do 
with  us?  They  had  killed  the  unfortunate  John  Lax 
solely  because  he  stood  up  manfully  for  the  College. 
What  could  we  expect  ?  Besides,  we  had  fully  intended 
'  to  kill  the  Rebels.  Now  we  were  penned  up  like  fowls 
in  a  coop,  altogether  at  their  mercy.  Could  one  have  be- 
lieved that  the  Holy  College,  the  Source  of  Health,  the 
Maintainer  of  Life,  would  ever  have  been  driven  to  its 
House,  as  to  a  prison,  like  a  herd  of  swine  to  their  sty  ; 
made  to  run  head  over  heels,  tumbling  over  one  another, 
without  dignity  or  self-respect ;  shoved,  bundled,  cuffed, 
and  kicked  into  the  House  of  Life,  and  locked  up,  with 
the  promise  of  instant  Death  to  any  who  should  endeavor 
to  escape?  But  did  they  mean  to  kill  us?  That  was  the 
Question  before  us.     Why  should  they  not  ?     We  should 


172  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

have  killed  the  Arch  Physician,  had  they  suffered  it ;  and 
now  they  had  all  the  power. 

I  confess  that  the  thought  of  this  probability  filled  ray 
mind  with  so  great  a  terror  that  the  more  I  thought  of  it 
the  more  my  teeth  chattered  and  my  knees  knocked  to- 
gether. Nay,  the  very  tears — the  first  since  I  was  a  little 
boy — came  into  my  eyes  in  thinking  that  I  must  abandon 
my  Laboratory  and  all  my  Researches,  almost  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  Triumph  of  Science  was  well  within 
my  grasp,  and  I  was  ready — nearly — to  present  Mankind 
at  his  last  and  best.  But  at  this  juncture  the  Assistants 
showed  by  their  behavior  and  their  carriage — now  greatly 
wanting  in  respect — that  they  looked  to  us  for  aid,  and  I 
hastily  called  together  the  remaining  Fellows  in  the  In- 
ner House. 

We  took  our  places  and  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay 
which  could  not  be  concealed. 

"  Brothers,"  I  said,  because  they  looked  to  me  for 
speech,  "it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  Situation  is  full  of 
Danger.  Never  before  has  the  College  been  in  danger 
so  imminent.  At  this  very  instant  they  may  be  sending 
armed  soldiers  to  murder  us." 

At  this  moment  there  happened  to  be  a  movement  of 
many  feet  in  the  nave,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  thing  was 
actually  upon  us.  I  sat  down,  pale  and  trembling.  The 
others  did  the  same.  It  was  several  minutes  before  con- 
fidence was  so  far  restored  that  we  could  speak  coherently. 

"We  have  lived  so  long,"  I  said,  "and  we  have  known 
so  long  the  pleasure  of  Scientific  Research,  that  the  mere 
thought  of  Death  fills  us  with  apprehensions  that  the 
common  people  cannot  guess.  Our  superior  nature  makes 
us  doubly  sensitive.  Perhaps — let  us  hope — they  may 
not  kill  us — perhaps  they  may  make  demands  upon  us  to 
which  we  can  yield.     They  will  certainly  turn  us  out  of 


PRISONERS.  173 

the  College  and  Ilonse  of  Life  and  install  themselves,  un- 
less we  find  a  way  to  turn  the  tables.  But  we  may  buy 
our  lives :  we  may  even  become  their  assistants.  Our 
knowledge  may  be  placed  at  their  disposal — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  they  all  agreed.  "  Life  before  everything. 
We  will  yield  to  any  conditions." 

"The  Great  Secret  has  gone  out  of  our  keeping,"  I 
went  on.  "  Dr.  Linister  has  probably  communicated  it 
to  all  alike.  There  goes  the  whole  Authority,  the  whole 
Mystery,  of  the  College." 

"  We  are  ruined  !"  echoed  the  Fellows  in  dismay. 

"Half  a  dozen  of  our  Fellows  have  gone  over,  too. 
There  is  not  now  a  Secret,  or  a  Scientific  Discovery,  or  a 
Process,  concerning  Life,  Food,  Health,  or  Disease,  that 
they  do  not  know  as  well  as  ourselves.  And  they  have 
all  the  Power.'  What  will  they  do  with  it?  What  can 
we  do  to  get  it  out  of  their  hands  V 

Then  began  a  Babel  of  suggestions  and  ideas.  Un- 
fortunately every  plan  proposed  involved  the  necessity  of 
some  one  risking  or  losing  his  life.  In  the  old  times, 
when  there  were  always  men  risking  and  losing  their 
lives  for  some  cause  or  other,  I  suppose  there  would  have 
been  no  difficulty  at  all.  I  had  been  accustomed  to  laugh 
at  this  foolish  sacrifice  of  one's  self — since  there  is  but 
one  life — for  pay,  or  for  the  good  of  others.  Now,  how- 
ever, I  confess  that  we  should  have  found  it  most  con- 
venient if  we  could  have  persuaded  some  to  risk — very 
likely  they  would  not  actually  have  lost — their  lives  for 
the  sake  of  the  Holy  College.  For  instance,  the  first 
plan  that  occurred  to  us  was  this.  We  numbered,  even 
after  the  late  defections,  two  hundred  strong  in  the  Col- 
lege. This  so-called  "Army"  of  the  Rebels  could  not 
be  more  than  seventy,  counting  the  deserters  from  the 
College.     Why  should  we  not  break  open  the  doors  and 


174  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

sally  forth,  a  hundred — two  hundred — strong,  armed  with 
weapons  from  the  laboratory,  provided  with  bottles  of 
nitric  and  sulphuric  acid,  and  fall  upon  the  Kebel  army 
suddenly  while  they  were  unprepared  for  us  ? 

This  plan  so  far  carried  me  away  that  I  called  together 
the  whole  of  the  College — Assistants,  Bedells,  and  all — 
and  laid  it  before  them.  I  pointed  out  that  the  over- 
whelming nature  of  the  force  we  could  hurl  upon  the 
enemy  would  cause  so  great  a  terror  to  fall  upon  them 
that  they  would  instantly  drop  their  arms  and  fly  as  fast 
as  they  could  run,  when  our  men  would  have  nothing 
more  to  do  but  to  run  after  and  kill  them. 

The  men  looked  at  one  another  with  doubtful  eyes. 
Finally,  one  impudent  rascal  said  that  as  the  Physicians 
themselves  had  most  to  lose,  they  should  themselves  lead 
the  assault.  "We  will  follow  the  Suffragan  and  the 
Fellows,"  he  said. 

I  endeavored  to  make  them  understand  that  the  most 
valuable  lives  should  always  be  preserved  until  the  last. 
But  in  this  I  failed. 

The  idea,  therefore,  of  a  sorti^  in  force  had  to  be 
abandoned. 

It  was  next  proposed  that  we  should  dig  a  tunnel  under 
the  Public  Hall  and  blow  up  the  Rebels  with  some  of 
the  old  explosives.  But  to  dig  a  tunnel  takes  time,  and 
then  who  would  risk  his  life  with  the  explosive  ? 

It  was  further  proposed  to  send  out  a  deputation  of 
two  or  three,  who  should  preach  to  the  Rebels  and  point 
out  the  terrible  consequences  of  their  continued  mutiny. 
But  this  appeared  impracticable,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  no  one  could  be  found  to  brave  the  threat  of  Captain 
Carera  of  death  to  any  who  ventured  out.  Besides,  it 
was  pointed  out,  with  some  reason,  that  if  our  messengers 
were  suffered  to  reach  the  Rebels,  no  one  would  be  moved 


PRISONERS.  1 75 

bj  the  threats  of  helpless  prisoners  unable  to  effect  their 
own  release.  As  for  what  was  proposed  to  be  done  with 
electricity,  hand-grenades,  dynamite,  and  so  forth,  I  pass 
all  that  over.  In  a  word,  we  found  that  we  could  do 
nothing.     We  were  prisoners. 

Then  an  idea  occurred  to  rae.  I  remembered  how, 
many  years  before.  Dr.  Linister,  who  had  always  a  mind 
full  of  resource  and  ingenuity,  made  a  discovery  by 
means  of  which  one  man,  armed  with  a  single  weapon 
easy  to  carry,  could  annihilate  a  whole  army.  If  war 
had  continued  in  the  world,  this  weapon  would  have  put 
an  immediate  stop  to  it.  But  war  ceased,  and  it  was 
never  used.  Now,  I  thought,  if  I  could  find  that  weapon 
or  any  account  or  drawing  of  its  manufacture,  I  should 
be  able  from  the  commanding  lieight  of  the  Tower,  with 
my  own  hand,  to  annihilate  Dr.  Linister  and  all  his  fol- 
lowing. 

I  proceeded,  with  the  assistance  of  the  whole  College, 
to  hunt  among  the  volumes  of  Researches  and  Experi- 
ments. There  were  thousands  of  them.  "We  spent  many 
days  in  the  search.  But  we  found  it  not.  When  we 
were  tired  of  the  search  we  would  climb  up  into  the 
Tower  and  look  out  upon  the  scene  below,  which  was  full 
of  activity  and  bustle.  Oh !  if  we  could  only  by  simply 
pointing  the  weapon,  only  by  pressing  a  knob,  see  our 
enemies  swiftly  and  suddenly  overwhelmed  by  Death ! 

But  we  could  not  find  that  Discovery  anywhere.  There 
were  whole  rows  of  volumes  which  consisted  of  nothing 
but  indexes.  But  we  could  not  find  it  in  any  of  them. 
And  so  this  hope  failed. 

They  did  not  kill  us.  Every  day  they  opened  the 
doors  and  called  for  men  to  come  forth  and  fetch  food. 
But  they  did  not  kill  us. 

Yet  the  danger  was  ever  present  in  our  minds.     After 


176  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

a  week  the  College  resolved  that,  since  one  alone  of  the 
body  knew  the  Great  Secret,  that  one  being  the  most 
likely  to  be  selected  for  execution  if  there  were  any  such 
step  taken,  it  was  expedient  that  the  Secret  should  be 
revealed  to  the  whole  College.  I  protested,  but  had  to 
obey.  To  part  with  that  Secret  was  like  parting  with 
all  my  power.  I  was  no  longer  invested  with  the  sanctity 
of  one  who  held  that  Secret:  the  Suffragan  became  a 
simple  Fellow  of  the  College :  he  was  henceforth  only 
one  of  those  who  conducted  Researches  into  Health  and 
Food  and  the  like. 

This  suspense  and  imprisonment  lasted  for  three  weeks. 
Tlien  the  Rebels,  as  you  shall  hear,  did  the  most  wonder- 
ful and  most  unexpected  thing  in  the  world.  Why  they 
did  it,  when  they  had  the  House  of  Life,  the  College,  and 
all  in  their  own  hands,  and  could  have  established  them- 
selves there  and  done  whatever  they  pleased  with  the 
People,  I  have  never  been  able  to  understand. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  RECRUITING   SERGEANT. 


When  the  College  had  thus  ignominiously  been  driven 
into  the  House  and  the  key  turned  upon  us,  the  Rebels 
looked  at  each  other  with  the  greatest  satisfaction. 

"  So  far,''  said  Jack,  "  we  have  succeeded  beyond  our 
greatest  hopes.  The  Prisoners  are  rescued ;  the  only  man 
with  any  fight  in  him  has  been  put  out  of  the  temptation 
to  fight  any  more;  the  Holy  College  are  made  Prisoners; 
ourselves  are  masters  of  the  field,  and  certain  to  remain 
so ;  and  the  People  are  like  lambs — nothing  to  be  feared 
from  them — nothing,  apparently,  to  be  hoped." 


THE   RECRUITING  SERGEANT.  177 

They  had  been  reduced  to  terror  by  the  violence  of  the 
Rebels  in  pushing  through  them  ;  they  had  rushed  away, 
screaming :  those  of  them  who  witnessed  the  horrible 
murder  of  John  Lax  were  also  seized  with  panic,  and 
fled.  But  when  no  more  terrifying  things  befell,  they 
speedily  relapsed  into  their  habitual  indifference,  and 
crept  back  again,  as  if  nothing  had  happened  at  all,  to 
dawdle  away  their  time  in  the  sunshine  and  upon  the 
garden  benches — every  man  alone,  as  usual.  That  the 
Holy  College  were  Prisoners — that  Rebels  had  usurped 
the  Authority — affected  them  not  a  whit,  even  if  they 
understood  it.  My  administration  had  been  even  too 
successful.  One  could  no  longer  look  to  the  People  for 
anything.  They  were  now,  even  more  rapidly  than  I  had 
thought  possible,  passing  into  the  last  stages  of  human 
existence. 

"  Te  Gods !"  cried  Dr.  Linister,  swearing  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Past  and  by  the  shadows  long  forgotten. 
"  Ye  Gods !  How  stupid  they  have  become !  I  knew 
not  that  they  were  so  far  gone.  Can  nothing  move  them  ? 
They  have  seen  a  victorious  Rebellion — a  Revolution,  not 
without  bloodshed.  But  they  pay  no  heed.  Will  noth- 
ing move  them?  Will  words?  Call  some  of  them  to- 
gether. Jack.  Drive  them  here.  Let  us  try  to  speak  to 
them.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  touch  some  chord  which 
will  recall  the  Past.  It  was  thus  that  you  —  we — were 
all  awakened  from  that  deadly  Torpor." 

Being  thus  summoned,  the  People — men  and  women — 
flocked  about  the  scaffold,  now  stripped  of  its  black  dra- 
peries, and  listened  while  Dr.  Linister  harangued  them. 
They  were  told  to  stand  and  listen,  and  they  obeyed, 
without  a  gleam  in  their  patient,  sheeplike  faces  to  show 
that  they  understood. 


12 


178  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

"  I  can  do  no  more !"  cried  Dr.  Linister,  after  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour. 

He  had  drawn  a  skilful  and  moving  picture  of  the 
Past ;  he  had  depicted  its  glories  and  its  joys,  compared 
with  the  dismal  realities  of  the  Present.  He  dwelt  upon 
their  loveless  and  passionless  existence ;  he  showed  them 
how  they  were  gradually  sinking  lower  and  lower — that 
they  would  soon  lose  the  intelligence  necessary  even  for 
the  daily  task.  Then  he  asked  them  if  they  would  join 
his  friends  and  himself  in  the  new  Life  which  they  were 
about  to  begin  :  it  should  be  full  of  all  the  old  things — 
endeavor,  struggle,  ambition,  and  Love.  They  should  be 
alive,  not  half  dead. 

More  he  said — a  great  deal  more — but  to  no  purpose. 
If  they  showed  any  intelligence  at  all,  it  was  terror  at  the 
thought  of  change. 

Dr.  Linister  descended. 

"  It  is  no  use,"  he  said.     "  Will  you  try.  Jack  ?" 

"Not  by  speaking.     But  I  will  try  another  plan." 

He  disappeared,  and  presentl}'^  came  back  again,  having 
visited  the  cellars  behind  the  Public  Halls.  After  him 
came  servants,  rolling  barrels  and  casks  at  his  direction. 

"  I  am  going  to  try  the  effect  of  a  good  drink""  said 
Jack.  "  In  the  old  days  they  were  always  getting  drunk, 
and  the  trades  had  each  their  favorite  liquor.  It  is  now 
no  one  knows  how  long  since  these  poor  fellows  have  had 
to  become  sober,  because  they  could  no  longer  exceed 
their  ration.  Let  us  encourage  ^hem  to  get  drunk.  I 
am  sure  that  ought  to  touch  a  chord." 

This  disgraceful  idea  was  actually  carried  out.  Drink 
of  all  kinds — spirits,  beer,  and  every  sort  of  intoxicating 
liquor — were  brought  forth,  and  the  men  were  invited  to 
sit  down  and  drink  freely,  after  the  manner  of  the  old 
time. 


THE   RECRUITING  SERGEANT.  179 

When  they  saw  the  casks  brought  out  and  placed  on 
stands,  each  ready  with  its  spigot,  and,  beside  the  casks, 
the  tables  and  benches,  spread  for  them— on  the  benches, 
pipes  and  tobacco— gleams  of  intelligence  seemed  to  steal 
into  their  eyes. 

"Come,"  said  Jack,  "sit  down,  my  friends;  sit  down, 
all  of  you.  Now  then,  what  will  you  drink  ?  What  shall 
it  b^  ?  Call  for  what  you  like  best.  Here  is  a  barrel  of 
beer ;  here  is  stout ;  here  are  gin,  whiskey,  rum,  Hollands, 
and  brandy.  What  will  you  have?  Call  for  what  you 
please.  Take  your  pipes.  Why,  it  is  the  old  time  over 
again." 

They  looked  at  each  other  stupidly.  The  very  names 
of  these  drinks  had  been  long  forgotten  by  them.  But 
they  presently  accepted  the  invitation,  and  began  to  drink 
greedily.  At  seven  o'clock,  when  the  Supper  Bell  rang, 
there  were  at  least  three  hundred  men  lying  about,  in 
various  stages  of  drunkenness.  Some  were  fast  asleep, 
stretched  at  their  full  length  on  the  ground ;  some  lay 
with  their  heads  on  the  table ;  some  sat,  clutching  at  the 
pewter  mugs;  some  were  vacuously  laughing  or  noisily 
singing. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  your  experiment  ?"  asked  Dr. 
Linister.     "Have  you  struck  your  chord?" 

"  Well,  they  have  done  once  more  what  they  used  to 
do,"  said  Jack,  despondently ;  "  and  they  have  done  it  in 
the  same  old  way.  I  don't  think  there  could  ever  have 
been  any  real  jolliness  about  the  dogs,  who  got  drunk  as 
fast  as  ever  they  could.  I  expected  a  more  gradual  busi- 
ness. I  thought  the  drink  would  first  unloose  their 
tongues,  and  set  them  talking.  Then  I  hoped  that  they 
would,  in  this  way,  be  Jed  to  remember  the  Past;  and  I 
thought  that  directly  they  began  to  show  any  recollection 
at  all,  I  would  knock  off  the  supply  and  carry  on   the 


180  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

memory.  But  the  experiment  has  failed,  unless  " — here 
a  gleam  of  hope  shone  in  his  face — "  to-morrow's  hot 
coppers  prove  a  sensation  so  unusual  as  to  revive  the 
memory  of  their  last  experience  in  the  same  direction — 
never  mind  how  many  years  ago.  Hot  coppers  may  pro- 
duce that  result." 

He  ordered  the  casks  to  be  rolled  back  to  the  cellars. 
That  evening  the  Rebels,  headed  by  Dr.  Linister — all 
dressed  in  scarlet  and  gold,  with  swords — and  with  them 
the  ladies — (they  were  called  ladies  now,  nothing  less — 
not  women  of  the  People  any  more) — came  to  the  Public 
Hall,  dressed  for  the  evening  in  strange  garments,  with 
bracelets,  necklaces,  jewels,  gloves,  and  things  which  most 
of  the  People  had  never  seen.  But  they  seemed  to  take 
no  heed  of  these  things. 

"They  are  hopeless,"  said  Jack.  "ISTothing  moves 
them,  "We  shall  have  to  begin  our  new  life  with  our 
own  company  of  thirty." 

"  Leave  them  to  us,"  said  Mildred.  "Remember,  it  was 
by  dress  that  Christine  aroused  us  from  our  stagnant  con- 
dition ;  and  it  was  by  us  that  you  men  were  first  awakened. 
Leave  them  to  us." 

After  the  evening  meal  the  ladies  went  about  from  ta- 
ble to  table,  talking  to  the  women.  Many  of  these,  who 
had  belonged  to  the  working  classes  in  the  old  Time,  and 
had  no  recollection  at  all  of  fine  dress,  looked  stupidly  at 
the  ladies'  dainty  attire.  But  there  were  others  whose 
faces  seemed  to  show  possibilities  of  other  things.  And 
to  these  the  ladies  addressed  themselves.  First,  they 
asked  them  to  look  at  their  fine  frocks  and  bangles  and 
things ;  and  next,  if  any  admiration  was  awakened,  they 
begged  them  to  take  off  their  flat  caps  and  to  let  down 
their  hair.  Some  of  them  consented,  and  laughed  with 
new-born  pride  in  showing  off  their  long-forgotten  beauty. 


THE  RECRUITING  SERGEANT.  181 

Then  the  ladies  tied  ribbons  round  their  necks  and  waists, 
put  flowers  into  their  hair,  and  made  thetn  look  in  the 
glass.  Not  one  of  those  who  laughed  and  looked  in  the 
glass  but  followed  the  ladies  that  evening  to  the  Museum. 

They  came  —  a  company  of  Ilecruits  fifty  strong,  all 
girls.  And  then  the  whole  evening  was  devoted  to  bring- 
ing back  the  Past.  It  came  quickly  enough  to  most. 
To  some,  a  sad  Past,  full  of  hard,  underpaid  work ;  to 
some,  a  Past  of  enforced  idleness ;  to  some,  a  Past  of  work 
and  pay  and  contentment.  They  were  shopgirls,  work- 
girls,  ballet-girls,  barmaids — all  kinds  of  girls.  To  every 
one  was  given  a  pretty  and  becoming  dress ;  not  one  but 
was  rejoiced  at  the  prospect  of  changing  the  calm  and  quiet 
Present  for  the  emotions  and  the  struggles  of  the  Past. 

But  they  were  not  allowed  to  rest  idle.  Next  day  these 
girls  again,  with  the  ladies,  went  out  and  tried  the  effect 
of  their  new  dress  and  their  newly-restored  beauty  upon 
other  women  first,  and  the  men  afterwards.  As  they 
went  about,  lightly  and  gracefully,  singing,  laughing, 
daintily  dressed,  many  of  the  men  began  to  lift  up  their 
sleepy  eyes,  and  to  look  after  them.  And  when  the  girls 
saw  these  symptoms,  they  laid  siege  to  such  a  man,  two 
or  three  together;  or  perhaps  one  alone  would  undertake 
the  task,  if  he  was  more  than  commonly  susceptible.  As 
for  those  on  whom  bright  eyes,  smiles,  laughter,  and  pretty 
dresses  produced  no  effect,  they  let  them  alone  altogether. 
But  still  Ilecruits  came  in  fast. 

Every  night  they  did  all  in  their  power  to  make  the 
Past  live  again.  They  played  the  old  Comedies,  Melo- 
dramas, and  Farces  in  the  Public  Hall ;  they  sang  the  old 
songs;  they  encouraged  the  Recruits  to  sing;  they  gave 
the  men  tobacco  and  beer ;  they  had  dances  and  music. 
Every  morning  the  original  company  of  Rebels  sat  in 
Council.     Every    afternoon    the   Recruits,   dressed    like 


182  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

soldiers  of  the  Past,  were  drawn   up,  drilled,  and  put 
through  all  kinds  of  bodily  exercise. 

We  were  Prisoners,  I  said,  for  three  weeks. 

One  morning,  at  the  end  of  that  time,  a  message  came 
to  us  from  the  "  Headquarters  of  the  Army."  This  was 
now  their  official  style  and  title.  The  Chief  ordered  the 
immediate  attendance  of  the  Suffragan  and  two  Fellows 
of  the  College  of  Physicians. 

At  this  terrifying  order,  I  confess  that  I  fell  into  so  vio- 
lent a  trembling — for,  indeed,  my  last  hour  seemed  now 
at  hand — that  I  could  no  longer  stand  upright ;  and,  in 
this  condition  of  mind,  I  was  carried — being  unable  to 
walk,  and  more  dead  than  alive — out  of  the  House  of  Life 
to  the  Headquarters  of  the  Rebel  Army. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  MOST   UNEXPECTED   CONCLUSION. 

I  CONFESS,  I  say,  that  I  was  borne  in  a  half-fainting 
condition  from  the  House  of  Life. 

•'  Farewell,  Suffragan,  farewell !"  said  my  Brethren  of 
the  College,  gathered  within  the  South  Porch,  where  a 
guard  of  armed  Rebels  waited  for  us.  "  Your  turn  to- 
day, ours  to-morrow !  Farewell !  Yet  if  any  concessions 
can  be  made — " 

Yes — yes — if  any  concessions  could  be  made,  only  to 
save  life,  they  might  be  certain  that  I  should  make  them. 
The  two  Fellows  of  the  College  upon  whom  the  lot — 
they  drew  lots — had  fallen,  accompanied  me,  with  cheeks 
as  pallid  and  hearts  as  full  of  terror  as  my  own. 

A  company  of   twenty   men,  armed,  escorted   us.     I 


A   MOST   UNEXPECTED    CONCLUSION.  183 

looked  on  the  way  for  lines  of  People  to  witness  the 
Downfall  of  the  College  and  the  Execution  of  its  Heads. 
I  looked  for  the  scaffold  which  we  had  erected,  and  for 
the  executioner  whom  we  had  provided.  I  listened  for 
the  Great  Bell  which  we  had  caused  to  be  rung. 

Strange !  There  were  no  People  at  all ;  the  way  from 
the  House  was  quite  clear ;  the  People  were  engaged  as 
usual  at  their  work.  I  saw  no  scaffold,  and  no  execution- 
er, I  heard  no  Great  Bell.  Yet  the  absence  of  these 
things  did  not  reassure  me  in  the  least. 

But  everything,  even  in  these  short  three  weeks,  was 
changed.  Nearly  the  whole  of  the  open  space  before  the 
Public  Hall  was  now  covered  with  rows  of  gay-colored 
tents,  over  which  flew  bright  little  flags.  They  were 
quite  small  tents,  meant,  I  learned  afterwards,  for  sleep- 
ing. Besides  these  there  were  great  tents  open  at  the 
sides,  and  spread,  within,  with  tables  and  benches,  at 
which  sat  men  smoking  tobacco  and  drinking  beer, 
though  it  was  as  yet  only  the  forenoon.  Some  of  them 
were  playing  cards,  some  were  reading  books,  and  some — 
a  great  many — were  eagerly  talking.  They  were  all 
dressed  in  tunics  of  scarlet,  green,  and  gray,  and  wore 
leathern  belts  with  helmets — the  costume  seemed  familiar 
to  me.  Then  I  remembered ;  it  ^vas  the  old  dress  of  a 
soldier.  Wonderful !  After  Science  had  lavished  all  her 
resources  in  order  to  suppress  and  destroy  among  the  Peo- 
ple the  old  passions — at  the  very  first  opportunity  the 
Rebels  had  succeeded  in  awakening  them  again  in  their 
worst  and  most  odious  form  ! 

There  were  also  large  open  spaces  upon  which,  regard- 
less of  the  flower-beds,  some  of  the  men  were  marching 
up  and  down  in  line,  carrying  arms,  and  performing  evo- 
lutions to  the  command  of  an  officer. 

Some  of  the  men,  again,  lay  sprawling  about  on  benches, 


184  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

merely  looking  on  and  doing  nothing — yet  with  a  lively 
satisfaction  in  their  faces.  They  ought  to  have  been  in 
the  fields  or  the  workshops.  And  everywhere  among  the 
men,  looking  on  at  the  drill,  sitting  in  the  tents,  walking 
beside  them,  sitting  with  them  on  the  benches,  were  the 
girls,  dressed  and  adorned  after  the  bad  old  false  style,  in 
which  the  women  pretended  to  heighten  and  set  off  what 
they  are  pleased  to  call  their  charms  by  garments  fantas- 
tically cut,  the  immodest  display  of  an  arm  or  a  neck,  hair 
curiously  dressed  and  adorned,  colored  ribbons,  flowers 
stuck  in  their  hats,  and  ornaments  tied  on  wherever  it  was 
possible.  And  such  joy  and  pride  in  these  silly  decora- 
tions !  No  one  would  believe  how  these  girls  looked  at 
each  other  and  themselves.  But  to  think  that  the  poor 
silly  men  should  have  fallen  into  the  nets  thus  clumsily 
spread  for  them !  And  this,  after  all  our  demonstrations 
to  show  that  woman  bears  in  every  limb  the  mark  of  in- 
feriority, so  that  contempt,  or  at  least  pity,  and  not  admi- 
ration at  all,  to  say  nothing  of  the  extraordinary  foolish 
passion  of  Love,  should  be  the  feeling  of  man  for  woman  ! 
However,  at  this  moment  I  was  naturally  too  much  occu- 
pied with  my  own  danger  to  think  of  these  things. 

One  thing,  however,  one  could  not  avoid  remarking. 
The  Rebellion  must  have  spread  with  astonishing  rapid- 
ity. It  was  no  longer  a  company  of  fifteen  or  sixteen 
men — it  was  a  great  Army  that  we  saw.  And  there  was 
no  longer  any  doubt  possible  as  to  the  movement.  The 
Past  was  restored.  In  the  faces  of  the  young  men  and 
the  girls,  as  we  passed  through  them,  I  remarked,  sick 
with  terror  as  I  was,  the  old,  old  expression  which  I  hoped 
we  had  abolished  forever — the  eagerness,  the  unsatisfied 
desire,  and  the  Individualism.  Yes — the  Individualism. 
I  saw  on  their  faces,  plain  to  read,  the  newly-restored 
Rights  of  Property. 


A   MOST    UNEXPECTED   CONCLUSION,  185 

Why,  as  I  walked  through  one  of  the  groups,  composed 
of  men  and  women,  one  of  the  men  suddenly  rushed  for- 
ward and  struck  another  in  the  face  with  his  fist. 

"  She's  my  girl !"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "  Touch  her  if 
you  dare." 

They  closed  round  the  pair  and  led  them  off. 

"  Going  to  fight  it  out,"  said  one  of  our  Guards. 

To  fight  it  out !  What  a  Fall !  To  fight  it  out !— To 
call  a  woman — or  anything  else — your  own  after  all  our 
teaching.  And  to  fight  it  out !  And  all  this  arrived  at 
in  three  weeks ! 

These  things  I  observed,  I  say,  as  one  observes  things  in 
a  dream,  and  remembers  afterwards. 

My  heart  failed  me  altogether,  and  I  nearly  fainted, 
when  we  stopped  at  a  long  tent  before  which  floated  a 
flag  on  a  flagstaff. 

They  carried  me  within  and  placed  me  in  a  chair.  As 
soon  as  my  eyes  recovered  the  power  of  sight  I  saw,  sit- 
ting at  the  head  of  the  table.  Dr.  Linister,  dressed  in  some 
sort  of  scarlet  coat,  with  a  sash  and  gold  lace.  Then,  in- 
deed, I  gave  myself  up  for  lost.  It  was  the  Court,  and 
we  were  called  before  it  to  receive  sentence.  At  his  side 
sat  half  a  dozen  officers  bravely  dressed.  The  tent  was 
filled  with  others,  including  many  women  richly  dressed — 
I  observed  the  w^oman  Mildred,  clad  in  crimson  velvet,  and 
the  girl  Christine,  in  white,  and  I  thought  they  regarded 
me  with  vindictive  eyes. 

When  we  were  seated,  Dr.  Linister  looked  up  —  his 
face  was  always  grave,  but  it  was  no  longer  melancholy. 
There  was  in  it,  now,  something  of  Hope  or  Triumph  or 
Resolution — I  know  not  what. 

"  Brothers,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  once  my  brothers  of  the 
College,  I  have  called  you  before  us  in  order  to  make  a 
communication  of  the  greatest  importance,  and  one  which 


186  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

will  doubtless  cause  you  considerable  surprise.  What  is 
the  matter,  Suffragan  ?  Hold  him  up,  somebody.  We  de- 
sire that  you  should  hear  from  our  own  lips  what  we  pro- 
pose to  do. 

"  First,  will  somebody  give  Dr.  Grout  a  glass  of  wine  or 
brandy,  or  something?  Pray  be  reassured,  gentlemen. 
No  harm,  I  promise,  shall  happen  to  any  of  you.  First,  in 
a  day  or  two  the  doors  of  the  House  will  be  thrown  open, 
and  you  shall  be  free  again  to  renew  your  old  life — if  you 
still  feel  disposed  to  do  so.  I  repeat  that  no  violence  is 
intended  towards  you.  Grout,  pull  yourself  together, 
man.  Sit  up,  and  leave  off  shaking.  You  will  be  able 
without  opposition,  I  say,  to  carry  on  again  your  Adminis- 
tration of  the  People  on  the  old  lines.  I  trust,  however, 
that  you  will  consider  the  situation,  and  the  condition  to 
which  you  have  reduced  unfortunate  Humanity,  very  se- 
riously. 

"  In  short,  though  we  are  absolute  masters  of  the  situa- 
tion, and  now  command  a  Force  against  which  it  would  be 
absurd  for  you  to  contend,  we  are  going  to  abandon  the 
Field,  and  leave  everything  to  you."  Were  we  dream- 
ing? "The  Present  is  so  odious  to  our  People;  the  sur- 
roundings of  this  place  are  so  full  of  the  horrible  and 
loathsome  Present,  that  we  have  resolved  to  leave  it  alto- 
gether. We  find,  in  fact,  that  it  will  be  impossible  to  be- 
gin the  new  Life  until  all  traces  of  your  Administration 
are  removed  or  lost.  And  we  shall  be  so  much  clogged 
by  your  Public  Halls,  your  houses,  your  system,  and  the 
miserable  lives  to  which  you  have  reduced  most  of  the 
men  and  women,  that  we  must  either  send  them — and  you 
— away,  or  go  away  ourselves.  On  the  whole,  it  will  give 
us  less  trouble  to  go  away  ourselves.  Therefore,  as  soon 
as  our  Preparations  are  ready,  we  shall  go. 

"  We  shall  carry  with  us  from  the  Common  Stores  all 


A   MOST    UNEXPECTED    CONCLUSION.  187 

that  we  shall  be  likely  to  want  in  starting  our  IS'ew  Com- 
munity. We  shall  leave  you  to  work  out,  undisturbed, 
the  Triumph  of  Science,  as  you  understand  it,  upon  these 
poor  wretches,  already  more  than  half  stupefied  by  your 
treatment. 

"  We  shall  take  with  us  all  those  whom  by  any  means — 
by  the  beauty  of  women,  the  splendor  of  arms,  the  ancient 
dresses,  the  ancient  music,  the  ancient  dances — we  have 
been  able  to  awaken  from  their  torpor.  They  amount  in 
all  to  no  more  than  a  thousand  or  so  of  young  men  and  as 
many  maidens.  As  for  the  rest,  they  are  sunk  in  a  leth- 
argy so  deep  that  we  have  been  unable  to  rouse  them. 
They  are  already  very  near  to  the  condition  which  you 
desire. 

"Yet  I  know  not.  These  poor  dull  brains  may  be 
swiftly  and  suddenly  fired  with  some  contagion  which 
may  at  any  time  ruin  your  calculations  and  destroy  the 
boasted  Triumph.  Do  not  rely  too  much  upon  the  Tor- 
por of  this  apparently  helpless  herd.  You  had  at  the  be- 
ginning a  grand  weapon  with  which  to  enslave  them. 
You  could  keep  them  alive,  and  you  could  save  them  from 
disease — if  only  they  were  obedient.  If  they  once  get 
beyond  the  recollection  or  the  fear  of  either,  what  will 
yon  do? 

"  We  go" — he  paused,  and  looked  round  the  room,  filled 
with  the  eager  faces  which  brought  the  Past  back  to  me — 
futile  eagerness!  ever  pressing  on,  gaining  nothing,  sink- 
ing into  the  grave  before  there  was  time  to  gain  anything ! 
That  had  come  back — that !  "  We  go,"  he  repeated — his 
face  had  long  been  so  melancholy  that  one  hardly  knew 
him  for  the  same  man,  so  triumphant  was  it  now — "we 
go  to  repair  the  mistakes  of  many,  many  years.  We  go 
to  lead  Mankind  back  into  the  ancient  paths.  It  was  not 
altogether  you,  my  friends,  who  destroyed  Humanity ;  it 


188  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

was  mainly  the  unfortunate  Discovery  of  the  German 
Professor.  We  were  working  admirably  in  the  right  di- 
rection ;  we  were  making  life  longer,  which  was  then  far 
too  short ;  we  were  gradually  preventing  diseases,  which 
had  been  beyond  the  control  of  our  wisest  men ;  we  were, 
by  slow  degrees,  in  the  only  true  way — through  the  Reve- 
lation of  Nature — feeling  our  way  to  Health  and  Pro- 
longation of  Life.  Yet,  whatever  happened,  whatever 
we  might  discover,  the  First  Law  of  Life — which  we  did 
not  understand — was  that  to  all  things  earthly  there  must 
come  an  End. 

"Then  happened  the  event  by  which  that  End  was 
indefinitely  postponed. 

"  Again,  I  say,  I  blame  not  you  so  much  as  the  current 
of  events  which  bore  you  along.  It  seemed  logical  that 
everybody,  able  or  imbecile,  weak  or  strong,  healthy  or 
sickly,  skilled  or  incompetent,  should  alike  reap  the  Fruits 
of  the  Great  Discovery.  If  he  did  so,  he  was  also  entitled 
to  his  equal  share  in  the  world's  goods.  This  was  the 
Right  of  Man,  put  forward  as  if  there  could  be  no  ques- 
tion at  all  about  it.  Every  child  was  to  inherit  an  equal 
share  of  everything.  It  was  a  false  and  a  mischievous 
claim.  What  every  child  inherited  was  the  right  of  fight- 
ing for  his  share,  without  danger  of  injustice  or  oppres- 
sion. And  the  next  step,  after  the  Slaughter  of  the  Old, 
was  the  forbidding  of  more  births.  What  that  has  done 
for  the  world,  look  round  and  see  for  yourselves  in  the 
torpor  of  the  women  and  the  apathy  of  the  men. 

"  The  People  by  this  time  had  learned  the  great  lesson 
that  you  wished  to  teach  them — that  Death  and  Disease 
were  the  only  two  evils.  Then  the  College  of  Physicians 
took  the  place  of  the  former  Priesthood,  with  its  own 
Mysteries  to  guard  and  its  gifts  to  distribute.  I  do  not 
deny  that  you  —  we  —  have  done  the  work  well.      The 


A  MOST    UNEXPECTED   CONCLUSION.  189 

Prevention  of  the  old  Diseases  is  nearly  perfect.  Yet,  at 
an_y  moment,  a  new  class  of  Disease  may  spring  up  and 
baffle  all  your  Science." 

He  had  often  talked  in  this  way  before,  but  never  with 
so  much  authority.  Yet  he  was  going  to  abandon  the 
^vholc— all  that  he  and  his  friends  had  gained  !  "Were  we 
dreaming?  His  talk  about  my  Administration  affected 
me  not  one  whit.  I  knew  all  his  arguments.  But  the 
thought  that  he  was  going  away,  that  he  would  actually 
leave  us  in  Power  and  Possession,  filled  me  with  amaze- 
ment. 

The  others  looked  and  listened  as  if  he  were  speaking 
for  them. 

"The  Eight  of  Man  to  an  equal  share  in  everything 
has  been  carried  out.  Look  around  you,  and  ask  your- 
selves if  the  result  is  satisfactory.  I  have  often  asked  you 
that  question.  You  have  replied  that  the  Present  is  only 
a  stage  in  the  Triumph  of  Science.  What  is  the  next 
stage  ?     To  that  question  also  you  have  a  reply. 

"Well,  we  give  it  back  to  you — the  whole  of  your  Pres- 
ent ;  your  People,  so  stupid,  so  docile,  so  sluggish ;  your 
House ;  your  College ;  your  Secrecy  ;  your  Mystery  ;  your 
Authority.  Take  them.  You  shall  have  them  again,  to 
do  with  them  as  seems  fit  to  you." 

At  these  words  my  heart  welled  over  with  joy.  Would 
he  really — but  on  what  conditions  ? — would  he  really  give 
us  back  the  whole  ? 

There  were  no  conditions.  He  meant  exactly  what  he 
said.  He  would  give  everything  back  to  us.  Were  we 
dreaming?     Were  we  dreaming? 

"  As  for  me  and  my  friends,"  he  said,  "  we  shall  sally 
forth  to  found  a  new  Settlement,  and  to  govern  it  by  the 
ideas  of  the  Past.  Xo  one  in  our  Settlement  will  be 
obliged  to  work ;  but  if  be  does  not,  he  shall  certainly 


190  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

starve.  Nobody  will  inherit  any  share  to  anything  except 
what  he  may  win  by  struggle.  There  will  be  no  equality 
at  all,  but  every  man  shall  have  what  he  can  honestly  get 
for  himself.  No  women  shall  be  compelled  to  work ;  but 
they  may  work  if  they  please,  and  at  such  things  as  they 
please.  Many  old  and  long-forgotten  things  have  been 
already  revived  ;  such  as  Love :  we  are  in  love  again — 
we,  who  actually  forgot  what  love  was  like  for  all  the 
years  which  we  have  ceased  to  number  or  to  chronicle. 
It  is  impossible  to  describe  to  you,  my  former  Brother 
Suffragan,  who  never  even  in  the  old  days  felt  the  passion 
— the  intense  joy,  the  ecstasy — of  Love."  The  other  men 
murmured  approval.  "  But  Love  is  a  plant  which,  while 
it  is  hardy  to  endure  many  things,  withers  and  dies  under 
certain  conditions.  It  was  found  to  flourish  in  the  old 
time,  through  all  the  changes  of  life  :  it  survived  the  time 
of  youth  and  beauty  ;  it  lasted  through  middle  age ;  flour- 
ished through  the  scenes  of  old  age ;  it  lasted  beyond  the 
grave.  It  endured  changes  of  fortune,  decay  of  health, 
poverty,  sickness,  and  even  helplessness.  But  one  thing 
kills  Love.  It  cannot  endure  the  dull  monotony  which 
has  followed  the  Great  Discovery :  it  cannot  live  long 
while  the  face  and  form  know  no  change ;  while  the  voice 
never  changes;  while  the  dress,  the  hours  of  work,  the 
work  itself,  the  food,  know  no  change.  These  are  things 
which  kill  the  Flower  of  Love.  Now,  all  things  desirable 
— this  is  a  saying  too  hard  for  you,  Suffragan — depend 
upon  Love.  With  Love,  they  have  revived  :  the  courtesy 
of  man  to  woman ;  the  deference  of  the  stronger  to  the 
weaker ;  the  stimulus  of  work ;  hope  and  ambition ;  self- 
sacrifice  ;  unselfishness ;  devotion  ;  the  sweet  illusions  of 
imagination — all  these  things  have  been  born  again  within 
the  last  three  weeks.  They  have  been  born  again,  and, 
with  them,  the  necessity  of  an  End.     All  things  earthly 


A   MOST   UNEXPECTED  CONCLUSION.  191 

must  have  an  end."  The  Chief  looked  round  him :  the 
men  murmured  approval,  and  tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of 
the  women.  "  We  cannot  let  tliem  die.  And  since  the 
First  Law  of  Love  is  change — and  the  Certain  End — we 
have  resolved,  Suffragan,  on  forgetting  the  Grand  Discov- 
ery." Could  this  be  our  late  Arch  Physician  ?  Were  we 
dreaming?  "We  shall  forego  any  share  in  it.  Only  the 
chiefs  here  gathered  together  know  as  yet  what  has  been 
resolved.  Little  by  little  the  truth  will  get  possession  of 
our  people  that  an  End  is  ordained." 

We  made  no  reply  to  this  extraordinary  announcement. 
What  could  we  say  ?     We  only  gasped  with  wonder. 

"  You  cannot  understand  this,  Grout.  I  do  not  expect 
that  you  should.  For  long  years  past  I  have  understood 
that  the  Great  Discovery  was  the  greatest  misfortune  that 
ever  happened  to  mankind.  For  all  things  must  have  an 
End  :  else  all  that  is  worth  preserving  will  wither  and  die. 

"  I  have  nearly  done.  You  can  go  back  to  your  House, 
and  you  can  carry  on  your  Administration  as  you  please. 
But  there  is  a  warning  which  we  have  first  to  pronounce 
before  we  let  you  go.  Your  Ultimate  Triumph  of  Sci- 
ence is  too  great  a  degradation  of  Humanity  to  be  endured. 
In  years  to  come  when  our  successors  rule  in  our  place, 
they  shall  send  an  army  here  to  inquire  into  the  conduct 
of  your  Trust.  If  we  find  the  People  more  brutish,  deeper 
sunk  in  apathy  and  torpor,  that  army  will  seize  the  House 
of  Life  and  the  College  of  Physicians,  and  will  destroy 
your  laboratories,  and  will  suffer  all — men  and  women  of 
the  People  and  Fellows  of  the  Sacred  College  alike — to 
die.     [Never  forget  this  warning.     You  shall  surely  die. 

"One  more  point,  and  I  have  done.  I  mention  it 
with  diffidence,  Grout,  because  I  cannot  hope  for  your 
sympathy.  Your  own  convictions  on  the  subject  were 
arrived  at — you  have  often  told  us — when  you  were  a  boy, 


192  THE   INNER  HOUSE. 

and  were  based  upon  the  argnments  of  a  Sunday-morning 
Spouter  in  the  Whitechapel  Road.  1  believe  that  John 
Lax,  deceased,  was  the  Learned  Authority  who  convinced 
you.  Therefore,  you  will  not  understand  me.  Grout, 
when  I  tell  you  that  we  have  found  the  Soul  again — the 
long-lost  Soul.  All  earthly  things  must  have  an  End. 
But  there  are  things  beyond  that  end.  Most  astonishing 
things  are  likely  to  follow  from  this  discovery.  Long 
thoughts  and  great  hopes  have  already  begun  to  spring 
up  in  our  minds.  Our  people  are  reading  again — the  old 
Literature  is  full  of  the  Soul :  they  are  reading  the  great 
Poets  of  old,  and  are  beginning  to  understand  what  they 
mean.  I  cannot  make  this  intelligible  to  you.  Grout. 
You  will  not  understand  all  that  this  discovery  brings 
with  it.  You  will  never,  never  understand  that  it  is  a 
Discovery  ten  times — a  million  times — greater  and  better 
for  mankind  than  the  Great  Discovery  itself,  of  which 
you  and  I  alone  held  the  Secret. 

"I  take  that  Secret  with  me  because  I  cannot  forget  it. 
But,  I  repeat,  we  shall  never  use  it.  Soon,  very  soon,  the 
new  active  life  will  make  men  once  more  familiar  with  the 
old  figure  who  carried  a  scythe.  There  will  be  accidents  ; 
new  diseases  will  arise ;  age  will  creep  slowly  on — 
the  Great  Discovery  will  be  quietly  forgotten  in  minds 
which  you  had  made  so  dull  that  they  could  not  under- 
stand when  we  rescued  them  what  it  meant.  But  we,  the 
leaders,  shall  know  well  that  their  happiness  must  have  an 
End.  All  earthly  things,"  he  repeated,  for  the  fifth  time, 
"must  have  an  End.  That  is  all.  Grout;  but  when  you 
hear  from  me  again,  unless  the  Administration  is  changed 
indeed,  the  People — the  College — and  you,  my  Sujffragan 
— shall  all  die  together.  You  shall  die.  Grout !  You  and 
your  friends  shall  die !  And  so.  Farewell.  Guard.  Take 
them  back  to  the  House," 


A   MOST   UNEXPECTED   CONCLUSION.  193 

We  returned  to  the  House  relieved  of  our  terror,  but 
much  amazed.  I  had  heard,  in  the  old  days,  how  men 
would  be  60  blockishly  possessed  by  the  thought  of  a 
woman — a  creature  inferior  to  man — that  they  would 
throw  away  everything  in  the  world  for  her  sake.  And 
now  Dr.  Linister  himself — with  all  those  who  followed 
after  him — had  given  up  everything ;  because  if  Life  goes, 
what  is  there  left?  And  for  the  sake  of  a  woman  ?  What 
could  it  mean  ?  How  to  explain  this  madness  on  any 
scientific  theory  ?  We  told  our  Colleagues,  and  they  mar- 
velled ;  and  some  suspected  a  trick.  But  Dr.  Linister  was 
not  a  man  to  play  tricks.  As  for  the  Soul  and  all  that 
rubbish,  if  Dr.  Linister  was  so  mad  as  to  give  np  every- 
thing for  a  woman,  he  might  just  as  well  adopt  all  the 
old  Creeds  together.  That  was  no  concern  of  ours.  And 
as  for  this  precious  discovery  about  things  earthly  coming 
to  an  end,  what  had  that  to  do  with  the  calm  and  tran- 
quil state  of  pure  existence  which  we  were  providing  for 
mankind  ?     Why  should  that  ever  have  an  end  ? 

That  threatened  army  has  never  come.  For  some  time 
the  thought  of  it  gave  us  considerable  uneasiness.  But  it 
has  never  come ;  and  I  believe,  for  my  own  part,  that 
now  it  never  will  come.  As  for  the  People,  there  has 
been  no  such  outbreak  of  Memory  as  was  prophesied. 
On  the  contrary,  they  have  approached  more  and  more, 
in  docility,  meekness,  mindlessness,  and  absence  of  pur- 
pose, to  the  magnificent  Ideal  which  I  cherish  for  them. 
I  know  not  when  it  will  arrive ;  but  the  time  is  as  cer- 
tain to  come  as  the  morrow's  sun  is  to  dawn,  when  the 
last  stage  of  Humanity  will  be  reached — an  inert  mass  of 
breathing,  feeding,  sleeping  flesh,  kept  by  the  Holy  Col- 
lege— the  Triumph  of  Science — free  from  Decay  and 
Death. 
13 


194  THE   INNER   HOUSE. 

They  went  awaj  in  the  afternoon,  three  or  four  days 
later.  They  took  with  them  everything  from  the  Public 
Stores  which  they  thought  would  be  useful :  provisions 
of  all  kinds ;  wine,  beer,  and  cider  in  casks ;  stuff  for 
clothing ;  furniture  ;  everything  that  they  could  think 
of.  They  took  the  pictures  out  of  the  Gallery,  the  books 
from  the  Library,  and  nearly  everything  that  was  in  the 
Museum.  From  the  laboratory  in  the  House  they  took  a 
great  number  of  volumes  and  a  quantity  of  instruments. 
At  the  last  moment,  nearly  all  the  Assistants  and  the 
workmen  agreed  to  join  them  ;  so  that  we  were  left  with 
numbers  greatly  reduced.  It  is  impossible  to  enumerate 
the  vast  quantities  of  things  which  they  took  with  them. 
The  wagons  in  which  they  were  packed  covered  a  couple 
of  miles  of  road  :  the  drivers  were  taken  from  the  People, 
and  ordered  to  discharge  their  duty ;  and,  as  they  never 
came  back,  these  poor  wretches  probably  perished  with 
the  Rebels.  They  went  forth  in  perfect  order :  first,  an 
advance  guard  of  mounted  men  ;  then  a  portion  of  the 
main  body,  among  whom  rode  the  Chief  with  his  staff. 
After  them  came  the  women,  some  riding  on  horseback, 
among  whom  were  the  woman  Mildred  and  the  girl  Chris- 
tine, showing  in  their  faces  that  foolish  and  excited  hap- 
piness which  is  so  different  from  the  sweet  tranquillity 
which  we  have  introduced.  Indeed,  all  the  women  were 
beyond  themselves  with  this  silly  happiness.  They  sang, 
they  laughed,  they  talked.  Some  sat  in  carriages  of  all 
kinds,  some  in  wagons ;  some  walked  ;  and,  what  with 
their  chatter  and  their  dresses,  one  would  have  thought 
them  a  company  of  monkeys  dressed  up.  After  the 
women  came  the  wagons,  and,  lastly,  the  rest  of  the  men. 
I  forgot  to  say  that  they  had  bands  of  music  with  them — 
drums,  fifes,  cornets,  and  all  kinds  of  musical  instruments 
— and  that  they  carried  flags,  and  that  the  men  sang  as 
they  marched. 


A    MOST   UNEXPECTED   COXCLUSION,  195 

Whither  they  went,  or  what  became  of  thorn — whether 
they  carried  out  tlie  desperate  resolve  of  giving  up  the 
Great  Discovery — I  know  not.  They  marched  away,  and 
we  returned  to  our  former  life. 

One  thing  more  I  must  relate. 

We — that  is,  the  College — were  seated,  reassured  as  to 
our  safety,  watching  this  great  Departure. 

Five  minutes  or  so  after  the  women  had  passed,  I  ob- 
served two  of  my  own  friends — learned  Fellows  of  the 
College,  who  had  always  followed  ray  lead  and  voted  with 
me— eagerly  whispering  each  other,  and  plucking  one  an- 
other by  the  sleeve.  Then  they  suddenly  rose  and  pulled 
off  their  black  gowns,  and  fled  swiftly  in  the  direction  of 
the  wagons  and  carriages  where  the  women  sat. 

We  have  never  seen  or  heard  from  any  of  these  unfor- 
tunate men  since. 

I  am  now  myself  the  Arch  Physician. 


THE    END. 


SOME  POPULAR  NOVELS 

PubHshed  by  HAEPER  &  BEOTHEES,  New  York. 

.4  large  proportion  of  the  Octavo  Paper  yovels  in  this  list  ma'j  be  obtained  in  half-bind- 
ing [leather  backs  and  pasteboard  sides],  suitable  for  Public  and  Circvlating  Li- 
braries, at  25  cents  per  volume  in  addition  to  the  prices  named  below.  The  32;/io 
Paper  Sovels  may  be  obtained  in  Cloth,  at  15  cents  per  volume  in  addition  to  the 
prices  named  below. 

For  a  Full  List  of  Novels  published  by  Hakper  &  Bbotheks,  see  Haepek's  New 
AND  Revised  Catalogue,  which  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  ad- 
dress, on  receipt  of  Ten  cents. 

PUIOK 

AT  THE  RED  GLOVE.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth  $1  50 

BAKER'S  (Rev.  W.  M.)  Carter  Quarterman.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  fiO 

Inside:  a  Chronicle  of  Secession.    Illustrated 8vo,Paper  75 

The  New  Timothy 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50;        4to,  Paper  25 

The  Virginians  in  Texas 8vo,  Paper  75 

BASIL'S  A  Coquette's  Conquest 4to,  Paper  20 

Love  the  Debt 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Wearing  of  the  Green 4to,  Paper  20 

BENEDICT'S  (F.  L.)  John  Worthington's  Name 8vo,  Paper  75 

Miss  Dorothy's  Charge 8vo,  Paper  75 

Miss  Van  Kortland 8vo,  Paper  60 

My  Daughter  Elinor 8vo,  Paper  80 

St.  Simon's  Niece 8vo,  Paper  60 

BESANT'S  (W.)  All  in  a  Garden  Fair 4to,  Paper  20 

All  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men 4to,  Paper  20 

Dorothy  Forster 4to,  Paper  20 

Herr  Paulus 8vo,  Paper  35 

Katharine  Regina 4to,  Paper  *  15 

"Self  or  Bearer" 4to,  Paper  15 

"  So  they  were  Married  !"     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Captains'  Room 4to,  Paper  10 

TheChildren  of  Gibeon 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Holy  Rose 4to,  Paper  20 

The  World  Went  Very  Well  Then.    Profusely  Illustrated. 4to,  Paper  25 

To  Call  Her  Mine.     Illustrated '. 4to,  Paper  15 

Uncle  Jack,  and  Other  Stories 12mo,  Paper  25 

BESANT  &  RICE'S  By  Celia's  Arbor.    Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Shepherds  All  and  Maidens  Fair 32mo,  Paper  25 

Sweet  Nelly,  My  Heart's  Delight 4to,  Paper  10 

The  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Golden  Butterfly 8vo,  Paper  40 

'Twas  in  Trafalgar's  Bay 32mo,  Paper  20 

When  the  Ship  Comes  Home 32mo,  Paper  25 

BLACK'S  (W.)  A  Daughter  of  Heth .  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25  ;       8vo,  Paper  35 

A  Princess  of  Thule rimo.Cloth,    125;       8 vo,  Paper  50 

Green  Pastures  and  Piccadilly. ..rimo.  Cloth,    125;       8vo,  Paper  50 

III  Far  Lochaber 12mo,  Cloth  1  25 

Svo,  Paper.     {Jiuii  Ready.) 

In  Silk  Attire 12mo,  Cloth,    125;       8vo,  Paper  35 

Judith  Shakespeare.     lU'd 12mo,  Cloth,    125;        4to,  Paper  20 

Kilmeny 12mo,Cloth,    125;       8vo,  Paper  35 

Macleod  of  Dare.     Illustrated.     12mo,  Cloth,    125;       8vo,  Paper  60 

4to,  Paper  15 

Madcap  Violet 12mo,  Cloth,    125;       Svo,  Paper  50 


Harper  cO  Brothers    Popular  Novels. 


PRIOK 

BLACK'S  (W.)  Sabina  Zembra 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25  ;       4to,  Paper$  2U 

Shandon  Bells.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,     125;        4to,  Paper  20 

Sunrise 12mo,  Cloth,    126;        4to,  Paper  15 

That  Beautiful  Wretch.     Iird...l2mo,  Cloth,     125;       4to,  Paper  20 

The  Maid  of  Killeena,  and  Other  Stories Svo,  Paper  40 

The  Monarch  of  Mincing-Lane.    Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

The  Strange  Adventures  of  a  House-Boat.   Illustrated.  12nio,  Cloth  1  25 

Svo,  Paper  50 

The  Strange  Adventures  of  a  Phaeton.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25  ;  Svo,  Pa.  50 

Three  Feathers.    Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,  $1   25;       Svo,  Paper  50 

White  Heather 12mo,  Cloth,     125;        4to,  Paper  20 

White  Wings.    Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,    125;        4to,  Paper  20 

Yolande.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,    125;        4to,  Paper  20 

BLACKMORE'S  (R.  D.)  Alice  Lorraine Svo,  Paper  50 

Christowell 4to,  Paper  20 

Clara  Vaughan 4to,  Paper  15 

Cradock  Nowell Svo,  Paper  60 

Cripps,  the  Carrier.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

Erema Svo,  Paper  50 

Lorna  Doone 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;       Svo,  Paper  25 

Mary  Anerley 16nio,Cloth,    100;        4to,  Paper  15 

Springhaven.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,    150;       4to,  Paper  25 

The  Maid  of  Sker Svo,  Paper  50 

Tommy  Upmore 16mo,  Cloth,  50  cts.;  Paper,  35  cts.;  4to,  Paper  20 

BRADDON'S  (Miss)  An  Open  Verdict Svo,  Paper  35 

A  Strange  World Svo,  Paper  40 

Asphodel 4to,  Paper  15 

Aurora  Floyd Svo,  Paper  40 

Barbara;  or,  Splendid  Misery 4to,  Paper  15 

Birds  of  Prey.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

Bound  to  John  Company.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

Charlotte's  Inheritance Svo,  Paper  35 

Cut  by  the  County 16mo,  Paper  25 

Dead  Men's  Shoes Svo,  Paper  40 

Dead  Sea  Fruit.     Illustrated Svq,  Paper  50 

Eleanor's  Victorj' Svo,  Paper  60 

Fenton's  Quest.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

Flower  and  Weed 4to,  Paper  10 

Hostages  to  Fortune.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

Ishmael 4to,  Paper  20 

John  Marchmont's  Legacy Svo,  Paper  50 

Joshua  Haggard's  Daughter.      Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

Just  as  I  Am 4to,  Paper  15 

Lost  for  Love.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

Mistletoe  Bough,  1S7S.     Edited  by  M.  E.  Braddon 4to,  Paper  16 

Mistletoe  Bough,  lS7y.     Edited  by  M.  E.  Braddon 4to,  Paper  10 

Mistletoe  Bough,  1S84.     Edited  by  M.  E.  Braddon 4to,  Paper  20 

Mistletoe  Bough,  1885.     Edited  by  M.  E.  Braddon 4to,  Paper  20 

Mount  Royal 4to,  Paper  16 

Phantom  Fortune 4to,  Paper  20 

Publicans  and  Sinners Svo,  Paper  50 

Strangers  and  Pilgrims.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

Taken  at  the  Flood Svo,  Paper  50 

The  Cloven  Foot  4  to,  Paper  16 


Harper  <t  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


PEIOE 

BRADDON'S  (Miss)  The  Fatal  Throo 8vo,  Paper  $   30 

The  Levels  of  Arden.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  One  Thinp  Needful 4 to,  Paper  20 

To  the  Bitter  End.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Under  the  Red  Flag 4to,  Paper  10 

Vixen 4to,  Paper  15 

Weavers  and  Weft 8vo,  Paper  25 

Wvllard's  Weird 4to,  Paper  20 

BREAD-WINNERS,  THE Itimo,  Cloth  1  00 

BRONTE'S  (Charlotte)  Jane  Eyre.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth  1  00 

4to,  Paper,  15  cents ;     8vo,  Paper  40 

Shirley.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth  1  00 

The  Professor.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;  4to,  Paper  20 

Viliette.     lUustrfited 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;  8vo,  Paper  50 

BRONTE'S  (Anne)  The  Tenant  of  Wildfell  Hall.     lU'd... .  ]2mo.  Cloth  1  00 

BRONTE'S  (Emily)  Wutherinj;  Hei£;hts.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth  1  00 

BUCHANAN'S  (Robert)  A  Child  of  Nature 4to,  Paper  15 

Annan  Water 4to,  Paper  20 

God  and  the  Man 4to,  Paper  20 

That  Winter  Night 12mo,  Paper  20 

The  New  Abelard 4to,  Paper  15 

BULWER'S  (Lytton)  A  Strange  Story.    Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth  1  25 

8vo,  Paper  50 

Devereux 8vo,  Paper  40 

Godolphin 8vo,  Paper  35 

Kenehn  Chillingly 12rao,  Cloth,  $1  25;  8vo,  Paper  50 

Leila 12mo,  Cloth,  1  00 

Night  and  Morning Bvo,  Paper  50 

Pausanias  the  Spartan 12mo,  Cloth,  75  cents;     Svo,  Paper  25 

Pelham 8vo,  Paper  40 

Rienzi Svo,  Paper  40 

The  Caxtons 12mo,  Cloth  1  25 

The  Coming  Race 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;     12mo,  Paper  50 

The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii 8yo,  Paper,  25  cents ;        4to,  Paper  15 

The  Parisians.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50;        Svo,  Paper  60 

The  Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine Svo,  Paper  20 

What  will  He  do  with  it? Svo,  Paper  75 

Zanoni  Svo,  Paper  35 

CAINE'S  (Hall)  She's  All  the  World  to  Me 12mo,  Paper  25 

The  Sha<low  of  a  Crime 4 to,  Paper  20 

CAMERON'S  (Mrs.  II.  Lovett)  A  North  Country  Maid 4to,  Paper  20 

Deceivers  Ever Bvo,  Paper  30 

Juliet's  Guardian Svo,  Paper  40 

CAMPBELL'S  (.\.)  Captain  MacDonald's  Daugliter Itimo,  Cloth  1  00 

COLLINS'S(Wilkie)  Novels.  Ill'd  Library  Edition.  12mo,  Cloth,  per  vol.  1  25 

After  Dark,  and  Other  Stories. — .Vntonina. — .\rmadale. — Basil. — 

Hide-and-Seek. — "  I  Say  No." — Man  and  Wife. — My  Miscellanies. 

— No  Name. — Poor  Miss  Finch. — The  Dead  Secret. — The  Law 

'    and   the   Lady. — The    Moonstone. — The   New   Magdalen. — The 

Queen  of  Hearts. — The  Two  Destinies. — The  Woman  in  Wliite. 

Antonina Svo,  Paper  40 

Armadale.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  f.o 

"  I  Say  No  ".  1  timo,  Cloth,  50  cts. ;  1 6mo,  Paper,  35  cts. ;     4to,  Paper  20 

Man  and  Wife 4to,  Paper  20 


Harper  ^6  Brothers^  Popular  Novels. 


COLLINS'S  (Wilkie)  My  Lady's  Money 32mo,  Paper  $   25 

No  Name.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  60 

Percy  and  the  Prophet 32mo,  Paper  20 

Poor  Miss  Finch.     Illustrated 8vo,  Cloth,  $1  10;      8 vo,  Paper  60 

The  Law  and  the  Lady.     Illustrated ..8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Moonstone.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  60 

The  New  Magdalen 8vo,  Paper  30 

The  Two  Destinies.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  35 

■  The  Woman  in  White.     Illustrated 8 vo,  Paper  60 

COOKE'S  (John  Esten)  Bonnybel  Vane  (Henry  St.  John)..,16mo,  Cloth  1  Oo 

Leather  Stocking  and  Silk 12mo,  Cloth  1   5o 

Mr.  Grantley's  Idea 32mo,  Paper  25 

Professor  Pressensee 32mo,  Paper  25 

Stories  of  the  Old  Dominion 12mo,  Cloth  1  50 

The  Virginia  Bohemians 8vo,  Paper  75 

CRAIK'S  (Miss  G.  M.)  A  Daughter  of  the  People 4to,  Paper  20 

Anne  Warwick 8vo,  Paper  25 

Dorcas 4to,  Paper  15 

Fortune's  Marriage 4to,  Paper  20 

Godfrey  Helstone 4to,  Paper  20 

Mildred Svo,  Paper  30 

Mrs.  Hollyer 4to,  Paper  20 

Sydney 4to,  Paper  15 

Sylvia's  Choice 8vo,  Paper  30 

Two  Women 4to,  Paper  15 

CROKER'S  (B.M.)  Pretty  Miss  Neville 4to,  Paper  20 

Some  One  Else 4to,  Paper  20 

CROMMELIN'S  (Mav)  A  Jewel  of  a  Girl 8vo,  Paper  35 

Goblin  Gold 12mo,  Paper  25 

In  the  West  Countrie 4to,  Paper  20 

Joy 4to,  Paper  20 

Orange  Lily 4to,  Paper  10 

DEFOE'S  (Daniel)  Journal  of  the  Plague  in  London 4to,  Paper  10 

Robinson  Crusoe 4 to,  Paper  20 

DE  MILLE'S  A  Castle  in  Spain.     Iird....8vo,  Cloth,  $1  00 ;  8vo,  Paper  50 

Cord  and  Creese.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  60 

The  American  Baron.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Cryptogram.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  75 

The  Dodge  Club.     Illustrated.... Svo,  Paper,  60  cents  ;     Svo,  Cloth  1   10 

The  Living  Link.     Illustrated.... Svo,  Paper,  60  cents  ;     Svo,  Cloth  1   10 

DICKENS'S  (Charles)  Works.     Household  Edition.     Illustrated.     Svo. 

Set  of  16  vols..  Cloth,  in  box 22  00 


A  Tale  of  Two  Cities.Paper  $  50 

Cloth  1  00 

Barnaby  Rudge Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 

Bleak  House Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 

Christmas  Stories Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 

David  Copperfield.... Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 

DombeyandSon Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 


Great  Expectations Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 
Little  Dorrit Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 
Martin  Chuzzlewit Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 
Nicholas  Nickleby Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 
Oliver  Twist Paper       50 

Cloth  1  00 
Our  Mutual  Friend Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 


Harper  d-  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


DICKENS'S  (Charles)  Works— Continued. 


rickwick  Papers Paper  $1  00 

Cloth  1  50 

Pictures  from  Italy,  Sketches  by 

Boz,  American  Is'^otes  ...Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 


The  Old  Curiosity  Shop . .  Paper  $  75 

Cloth    1  25 

Uncommercial    Traveller,  Hard 

Times,  Edwin  Drood... Paper  1  00 

Cloth  1  50 

Hard  Times 8vo,  Paper  25 

Mrs.  Lirriper's  Legacv 8vo,  Paper  10 

Mvsterv  of  Edwin  Drood.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  25 

Pickwick  Papers 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Mudfog  Papers,  &c 4to,  Paper  10 

DISRAELI'S  (Earl  of  Beaconsfield)  Endymion  4to,  Paper  15 

The  Yoinig  Duke 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50;      4to,  Paper  15 

DUNNING'S  (Charlotte)  Cabin  and  Gondola 12mo,  Paper  :io 

Upon  a  Cast 16mo,  Cloth  1  00 

EBERS'S  (Georg)  The  Bride  of  the  Nile 4to,  Paper  25 

EDWARDES'S  (Annie)  A  Girton  Girl 4to,  Paper  20 

EDWARDS'S  (A.  B.)  A  Playwright's  Daughter 12mo,  Paper  25 

Barbara's  Historv 8vo,  Paper  50 

Debenham's  Vow.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Half  a  Million  of  Money 8vo,  Paper  50 

Lord  Brackenbury 4to,  Paper  15 

Miss  Carew 8vo,  Paper  35 

Mv  Brother's  Wife 8vo,  Paper  25 

EDWARDS'S  (M.  B.)  Disarmed 4to,  Paper  15 

Exchange  No  Robbery 4to,  Paper  15 

Kittv 8vo,  Paper  35 

Next  of  Kin— Wanted 4to,  Paper  20 

Pearla 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Flower  of  Doom,  and  Other  Stories 16mo,  Paper  25 

ELIOT'S  (George)  Works.     Library   Edition.      12  vols.     Illustrated. 

]2mo,  Cloth,  per  vol.  1  25 

Popular  Edition.     12  vols.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,  per  vol.  75 

Adam  Bede. — Daniel  Deronda,  2  vols.— Essays  and  Leaves  from 
a  Note-Book. — Felix  Holt,  the  Radical.— Middlemarch,  2  vols. 
— Romola.  —  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,  awl  Silas  Marner.  —  The 
Mill  on  the  Floss. — Poems :  with  Brother  Jacob  and  The  Lifted 
Veil. 
Fireside  Edition.     Containing  the  above  in  6  vols.     (-SbW  onlif  in 

Sets.) 12mo,  Cloth    7  50 

Adam  Bede.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

Amos  Barton 32mo,  Paper  20 

Brother  Jacob.— The  Lifted  Veil 32mo,  Paper  20 

Daniel  Deronda 8vo,  Paper  50 

Felix  Holt,  the  Radical 8vo,  Paper  50 

Impressions  of  Theophrastus  Such 4to,  Paper  10 

Janet's  Repentance 32mo,  Paper  20 

Middlemarch Svo,  Paper  75 

Mr.  Gilfil's  Love  Story 32mo,  Paper  20 

Romola.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

Scenes  of  Clerical  Life 8vo,  Paper  50 

Silas  Marner I'-mo,  Paper  20 

FARJEON'S  An  Island  Pearl.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  30 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Silver  Flagon 8vo,  Paper  25 


Harper  db  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


FARJEON'S  Aunt  Parker 4to,  PaperS    20 

Blade-o'-Grass.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  30 

Bread-and-Cheese  and  Kisses.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  85 

Golden  Grain.     Illustrated 8 vo,  Paper  35 

Great  Porter  Square 4to,  Paper  20 

Jessie  Trim 8 vo,  Paper  35 

Joshua  Marvel 8vo,  Paper  40 

Love's  Harvest 4to,  Paper  20 

Love's  Victory 8vo,  Paper  20 

Miser  Farebrother.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

Self-Doomed 12mo,  Paper  25 

Shadows  on  the  Snow.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  30 

The  Bells  of  Penraven 4to,  Paper  10 

The  Bright  Star  of  Life 12mo,  Paper  25 

The  Duchess  of  Rosemary  Lane 8vo,  Paper  35 

The  King  of  No-Land,     illustrated 8vo,  Paper  25 

The  Nine  of  Hearts 12mo,  Paper  25 

The  Sacred  Nugget 12mo,  Paper  25 

FENN'S  (Geo.  M.)  Devon  Boys.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

Ship  Ahoy  ! ". Svo,  Paper  35 

The  Chaplain's  Craze 12mo,  Paper  25 

The  Dark  House 12mo,  Paper  25 

The  Parson  o'  Dumford 4to,  Paper  15 

The  Treasure  Hunters 8vo,  Paper  25 

This  Man's  Wife 4to,  Paper  20 

FORDE'S  (Gertrude)  In  the  Old  Palazzo 4to,  Paper  20 

Onlv  a  Coral  Girl ....8vo,  Paper  30 

FRANZ6S'S(K.  E.)For  the  Right Svo,  Paper  30 

GASKELL'S  (Mrs.)  Cousin  Phillis 8vo,  Paper  20 

Cranford 16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25;      16mo,  Paper  25 

Mary  Barton Svo,  Paper,  40  cents ;     4to,  Paper  20 

Moorland  Cottage ISmo,  Cloth  .75 

My  Lady  Ludlow Svo,  Paper  20 

Right  at  Last,  &c 12mo,  Cloth  1  50 

Sylvia's  Lovers Svo,  Paper  40 

Wives  and  Daughters.     Illustrated  Svo,  Paper  60 

GERARD'S  (E.  D.)  Beggar  My  Neighbor 4to,  Paper  20 

Reata .' 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Waters  of  Hercules 12mo,  Paper,  25  cents;     4to,  Paper  20 

GIBBON'S  (C.)  A  Hard  Knot 12mo,  Paper  25 

A  Heart's  Problem ^. 4to,  Paper  10 

By  Mead  and  Stream 4to,  Paper  20 

Clare  of  Claresmede 4to,  Paper  20 

For  Lack  of  Gold Svo,  Paper  35 

For  the  King Svo,  Paper  30 

Heart's  Delight 4to,  Paper  20 

In  Honor  Bound 4to,  Paper  35 

Of  High  Degree Svo,  Paper  20 

Queen  of  the  Meadow 4to,  Paper  15 

Robin  Gray Svo,  Paper  35 

The  Braes  of  Yarrow 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Golden  Shaft 4to,  Paper  20 

HAGGARD'S  (H.  Rider)  Allan  Quatermain.    lU'd 16mo,  Half  Cloth  75 

Paper  25 


Harper  d:  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


PBIOK 

HAGGARD'S  (H.  Rider)  Dawn lt5mo,  Half  Clotli  >;  75 

Jess 16ino,  Half  Clotli,  75  cents;    ,  4to,  Paper  15 

King  Solomon's  Minos. ...16mo,  Half  Cloth,  75  cents  ;      4to,  Paper  20 

Maiwa's  Revenge.     Illustrated 16mo,  Paper  25 

Half  Cloth  75 

Mr.  Meeson's  Will 16mo,  Half  Cloth,  75  cents;    Paper  25 

"She."    Iird...l6mo, Half  Cloth,  75  cts;  Paper, 25  cts ;  4to, Paper  25 

The  Witch's  Head 16mo,  Half  Cloth  75 

HARDY'S  (Thos.)  A  Laodicean.     Hlustrated 4to,  Paper  20 

Fellow-Townsmen 32mo,  Paper  20 

Romantic  Adventures  of  a  Milkmaid 4to,  Paper  10 

The  Woodlanders 16mo,  Cloth,  75  cents;     4to,  Paper  20 

Wessex  Tales 8vo,  Paper  80 

HARRISON'S  (Mrs.)  Bar-Harbor  Days.    Illustrated 16mo,  Cloth  1  25 

Golden  Rod 32mo,  Paper  25 

Helen  Trov ItJmo,  Cloth  1  00 

HATTON'S  (Joseph)  John  Xeedham's  Double 12mo,  Paper  25 

The  Great  AVorld 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Queen  of  Bohemia 4to,  Paper  15 

Three  Recruits 4to,  Paper  15 

HAY'S  (M.  C.)  A  Dark  Inheritance 32mo,  Paper  15 

A  Shadow  on  the  Threshold 32mo,  Paper  20 

A  Wicked  Girl 12mo,  Paper  25 

Among  the  Ruins,  and  Other  Stories 4to,  Paper  15 

At  the  Seaside,  and  Other  Stories 4to,  Paper  15 

Back  to  the  Old  Home 32mo,  Paper  20 

Bid  Me  Discourse 4to,  Paper  10 

Dorothy's  Venture 4to,  Paper  15 

For  Her  Dear  Sake 4to,  Paper  15 

Hidden  Perils  8vo,  Paper  25 

Into  the  Shade,  and  Other  Stories 4to,  Paper  15 

Lady  Carmichael's  Will  32mo,  Paper  15 

Lester's  Secret 12mo,  Paper,  30  cents;      4to,  Paper  20 

Missing 32mo,  Paper  20 

My  First  Offer,  and  Other  Stories 4to,  Paper  15 

Nora's  Love  Test 8vo,  Paper  25 

Old  Myddelton's  Money  8vo,  Paper  25 

Reaping  the  Whirlwind o2mo,  Paper  20 

The  Arundel  Motto 8vo,  Paper  25 

The  Sorrow  of  a  Secret 32ino,  Paper  15 

The  Squire's  Legacy 8vo,  Paper  25 

Under  Life's  Key,  and  Other  Stories 4to,  Paper  15 

Victor  and  Vanquished 8vo,  Paper  25 

HOF.Y'S  (Mr.-;.  C.)  A  Golden  Sorrow gvo,  Paper  40 

A  Stern  Chase 4 to,  Paper  20 

All  or  Nothing 4to,  Paper  15 

Kate  Cronin's  Dowry 32mo,  Paper  15 

The  Blossoming  of  an  Aloe 8vo,  Paper  30 

The  Lover's  Creed 4to,,  Paper  20 

The  Question  of  Cain 4to.  Paper  20 

HOSMEK'S  (G.  W.)  "As  We  Went  Marching  On." 16mo,  Cloth  1  00 

HOWARD'S  (lilanchc  W.)  Tonv,  the  Maid.     Illustrated....  lOmo,  Cloth   1  OU 

HOWELLS'S  (W.  D.)  April  Hopes 12mo,  Cloth   1  50 

The  Garroters lOmo,  Cloth  60 


Harper  d:  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


PRICE 

HUGHES'S  (Thomas)  Tom  Brown's  School  Days.     Illiijitiated 8vo, 

Paper,  40  cents  ;     4to,  Paper  $  10 

Tom  Brown  at  Oxford.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  60 

School  Days  and  Oxford.     In  one  volume 8vo,  Cloth  1  50 

HUGO'S  (Victor)  Nmety-Three.   Ill'd.   12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50;    8vo,  Paper  25 

The  Toilers  of  the  Sea.     Ill'd 8vo,  Cloth,     150;    8vo,  Paper  50 

HUMPHREY'S  (F.  A.)  The  Children  of  Old  Park's  Tavern..  16mo,  Cloth  1  00 

JAMES'S  (Henry)  An  International  Episode 3 2 mo,  Paper  20 

Daisy  Miller 82mo,  Paper  20 

Diary  of  a  Man  of  Fifty,  and  A  Bundle  of  Letters 82mo,  Paper  25 

The  four  above-mentioned  works  in  one  volume 4to,  Paper  25 

Washington  Square.     Illustrated 16nio,  Cloth  1  25 

JOHXSON'S  (V.  W.)  A  Sack  of  Gold Svo,  Paper  35 

Joseph  the  Jew Svo,  Paper  40 

Miss  Nancy's  Pilgrimage 8vo,  Paper  40 

The  Calderwood  Secret Svo,  Paper  40 

The  Neptune  Vase 4to,  Paper  20 

Tulip  Place 12mo,  Paper  25 

Two  Old  Cats 4to,  Paper  15 

JOHNSTON'S  (R.  M.)  Dukesborough  Tales.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

Mr.  Absalom   Billingslea,  and   Other  Georgia  Folk.     Illustrated. 

16mo,  Cloth  1  00 

Old  Mark  Langston 16mo,  Cloth  1  00 

KING'S  (Captain  Charles)  A  War-Time  Wooing.    Ill'd. ..Post  Svo,  Cloth  1  00 

KING'S  (Katharine)  Hugh  Melton.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  25 

Off  the  Roll Svo,  Paper  50 

Our  Detachment Svo,  Paper  35 

The  Bubble  Reputation 4to,  Paper  15 

LANG'S  (Andrew)  In  the  Wrong  Paradise,  etc 12mo,  Cloth  fiO 

LANG'S  (Mrs.  A.)  Dissolving  Views.  1 6mo,  Cloth,  50  cents ;    1 6mo,  Paper  35 

LAWRENCE'S  (G.  A.)  Anteros Svo,  Paper  40 

Breaking  a  Butterfly Svo,  Paper  35 

Guy  Livingstone....! 12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50;     4to,  Paper  10 

Hagarene Svo,  Paper  35 

Sans  Merci Svo,  Paper  35 

LEE'S  (V.)  Miss  Brown 4to,  Paper  20 

Ottilie,  and  The  Prince  of  the  Hundred  Soups 4to,  Paper  20 

LEVER'S  (Charles)  A  Day's  Ride Svo,  Paper  40 

Barrington Svo,  Paper  40 

Gerald  Fitzgerald Svo,  Paper  40 

Lord  Kilgobbin.     Illustrated Svo,  Cloth,  $1  00  ;       Svo,  Paper  50 

One  of  Them Svo,  Paper  50 

Roland  Cashel.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  75 

Sir  Brook  Fosbrooke Svo,  Paper  50 

Sir  Jasper  Carew Svo,  Paper  50 

That  Boy  of  Norcott's.     Illustrated  Svo,  Paper  25 

The  Bramleighs  of  Bishop's  Folly Svo,  Paper  50 

The  Daltons Svo,  Paper  75 

The  Fortunes  of  Glencore Svo,  Paper  50 

The  Martins  of  Cro'  Martin Svo,  Paper  tlO 

LILLIE'S  (Mrs.  L.C.)  Prudence.  IH'd.iemo,  Cloth,  90  cts. ;  16mo,  Paper  50 

LIXSKILL'S  (M.)  Between  Heather  and  Sea 4to,  Paper  20 

In  Exchange  for  a  Soul 4to,  Paper  20 

LINTON'S  (Mrs.  E.  Lynn)  From  Dreams  to  Waking Svo,  Paper  20 


Harper  d:  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


PRICK 

LINTON'S  (Mrs.  E.  Lynn)  lone  Stewart 4to,  Paper  $    20 

Lizzie  Lortou  of  Greyrigg 8vo,  Paper  50 

My  Love 4to,  Paper  20 

Our  Professor 32mio,  Paper  15 

Pastoii  Carew 4 to,  Paper  20 

Sowing  the  Wind 8vo,  Paper  35 

The  Rebel  of  the  Family 4to,  Paper  25 

Tlirougli  the  Long  Nights 8vo,  Paper  25 

LOVpj  and  Mirage 16mo,  Cloth,  60  cents  ;  Paper  35 

LYALL'S  (Edna)  h\  the  Golden  Days 16mo,  Cloth  75 

Knight-Errant 4to,  Paper  20 

McCarthy's  (Justin)  Comet  of  a  Season 4to,  Paper  20 

Donna  Quixote 4to,  Paper  15 

Maid  of  Athens 4to,  Paper  20 

My  Enemy's  Daughter.      Illustrated Svo,  Paper  50 

The  Waterdale  Neighbors .* Svo,  Paper  35 

McCarthy's  (Justin  H.)  Doom l2mo,  Paper  25 

Our  Sensation  Novel 12mo,  Paper  25 

MACDONALD'S  (George)  Alec  Forbes Svo,  Paper  50 

Annals  of  a  Quiet  Neighborhood ; 12mo,  Cloth  1  25 

Donal  Grant 4to,  Paper  20 

(iuild  Court Svo,  Paper  40 

Warlock  o'  Glenwarlock 4to,  Paper  20 

Weighed  and  Wanting 4to,  Paper  20 

What's  Mine's  Mine 4to,  Paper  20 

MACQUOID'S  (Mrs.)  Beside  the  River 4to,  Paper  20 

Elinor  Dryden 4to,  Paper  15 

Joan  Wentworth 12mo,  Paper  25 

Louisa.     In  Two  Parts 12mo,  Paper,  each  25 

Marjorie 4to,  Paper  20 

M^re  Suzanne 4to,  Paper  20 

Patty Svo,  Paper  50 

Sir  James  Appleby,  Bart 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Awakening 32mo,  Paper  15 

The  Mill  of  St.  Herbot 32mo,  Paper  20 

Too  Soon Svo,  Paper  30 

MAGRUDER'S  (Julia)  A  Magnificent  Plebeian 16mo,  Cloth  1  00 

MARTIN'S  (Mrs.  Herbert)  Amor  Vincit 4to,  Paper  20 

"  Bonnie  Le.«ley  " 4to,  Paper  10 

"  For  a  Dream's  Sake" 4lo,  Paper  15 

MEREDITHS  (Geo.)  Diana  of  the  Crossways 4to,  Paper  20 

Evan  Harrington 12mo,  Cloth   1  50 

The  Egoist 4to,  Paper  15 

The  House  on  the  Beach 32mo,  Paper  20 

MOLESWORTH'S  (Mrs.)  Marrying  and  Giving  in  Marriage.  .4to,  Paper  15 

Miss  Bouverie ....4to,  Paper  15 

Us 12mo,  Paper  25 

MULOCK'S  (Miss)  A  Brave  Lady.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth  90 

Agatha's  Husband.     lU'd 12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents  ;     Svo,  Paper  35 

A  Legacy 12mo,  Cloth  90 

A  Life  for  a  Life 12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents;     Svo,  Paper  40 

A  Noble  Life 12mo,  Cloth  90 

Avillion,  and  Other  Tales Svo,  Paper  60 

Christian's  Mistake 12mo,  Cloth  90 


10  Harper  c6  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 

PRICE 

MULOCK'S  (Miss)  Hannah.     Illustrated....  12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents  ;  8vo, 

Paper  $  ."5 

Head  of  the  Family.     Hl'd 12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents ;     8vo,  Paper  50 

His  Little  Mother 12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents;      4to,  Paper  10 

John  Halifax,  Gentleman.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

12ino,  Cloth,  90  cents;     4to,  Paper  15 

King  Arthur Timo,  Cloth,  90  cents;   16mo,  Paper  25 

Miss  Tommy.      Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents  ;  12mo,  Paper  50 

Mistress  and  Maid 12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents;  Svo,  Paper  30 

My  Mother  and  I.  Illustrated..  .12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents;  Svo,  Paper  40 

Nothing  New Svo,  Paper  .30 

Ogilvies.     Illustrated 12nio,  Cloth,  90  cents;  Svo,  Paper  35 

Olive.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents  ;  .Svo,  Paper  .35 

The  Laurel  Bush.    Ill'd Timo,  Cloth, 90  cents;  Svo,  Paper  25 

The  Woman's  Kingdom.    Iird...l2mo,  Cloth,  90  cents;  Svo,  Paper  60 

Two  Marriages '. Timo,  Cloth  90 

Unkind  Word,  and  Other  Stones 12mo,  Cloth  90 

Young  Mrs.  .Jardine 12mo,  Cloth,  90  cents  ;  4to,  Paper  10 

MURRAY'S  (D.  C.)  A  Life's  Atonement 4to,  Paper  20 

A  Model  P'ather 4to,  Paper  10 

Aunt  Rachel 12mo,  Paper  25 

By  the  Gate  of  the  Sea 4to,  Paper  15 

12  mo,  Paper  15 

Cynic  Fortune 12mo,  Paper  25 

First  Person  Singular 4to,  Paper  25 

Hearts 4to,  Paper  20 

Rainbow  Gold 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Way  of  the  World 4to,  Paper  20 

Val  Strange 4to,  Paper  20 

NORRIS'S  (W.  E.)  A  Man  of  His  Word,  &c 4to,  Paper  20 

Adrian  Vidal.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

Heaps  of  Money Svo,  Paper  15 

Her  Own  Doing 12mo,  Paper  25 

Mademoiselle  de  Mersac 4to,  Paper  20 

Matrimony 4to,  Paper  20 

No  New  Thing 4to,  Paper  25 

That  Terrible'Man 12mo,  Paper  25 

Thirlby  Hall.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

NOTLEY'S  (F.  E.  M.)  Love's  Crosses 4to,  Paper  15 

Red  Riding-Hood 4to,  Paper  20 

Time  Shall  Trv 4to,  Paper  15 

O'HANLON'S  (Alice)  A  Costly  Heritage 4t,o,  Paper  20 

Horace  McLean 4to,  Paper  15 

No  Proof 4to,  Paper  20 

Robert  Reid,  Cotton-Spinner 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Unforeseen 4to,  Paper  20 

OLIPH ANT'S  (Laurence)  Altiora  Peto.    4to,  Paper,  20  cts. ;  1 6mo,  Paper  20 

Irene  Macgillicuddy 32mo,  Paper  15 

Piccadilly ." 16mo,  Paper  25 

OLIPHANT'S  (Mrs.)  A  Country  Gentleman 4to,  Paper  20 

A  House  Divided  Against  Itself 4to,  Paper  20 

A  Son  of  the  Soil Svo,  Paper  50 

Agnes Svo,  Paper  50 

Brownlows..... ,..., Svo,  Paper  50 


Harper  dk  Brothers'  Pojndar  Novels.  1 1 

PRIOE 

OLIPHANT'S  (Mrs.)  Carit^.    Illustrated 8vo,  Paper$  50 

Clironk'lcs  of  Carlingford 8vo,  Paper  60 

Effie  Ogilvie 12mo,  Paper  25 

For  Love  and  Life 8vo,  Paper  50 

Harry  Joscelyn 4to,  Paper  20 

He  That  Will  Not  when  He  May 4to,  Paper  20 

Hester 4 to,  Paper  20 

Innocent.     Illustrated 8vo,  Paper  50 

It  was  a  Lover  and  His  Lass 4to,  Paper  20 

Joyce 8vo,  Paper  35 

Lady  Jane 4to,  Paper  10 

Lucy  Crofton 12nio,  Cloth   1  50 

Madam 16mo,  Cloth,  75  cents;  4to,  Paper  25 

Madonna  Mary 8vo,  Paper  50 

Miss  Murjoribanks 8vo,  Paper  50 

Mrs.  Arthur 8vo,  Paper  40 

Onibia 8vo,  Paper  50 

Perpetual  Curate 8vo,  Paper  50 

Phcebe  Junior 8vo,  Paper  35 

Sir  Tom 4to,  Paper  20 

Squire  Arden 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Curate  in  Charge 8vo,  Paper  20 

The  Fugitives 4to,  Paper  10 

The  Greatest  Heiress  in  England 4to,  Paper  10 

The  Ladies  Lindores 16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;  4to,  Paper  20 

The  Laird  of  Xorlaw 12mo,  Cloth  1  50 

The  Last  of  the  Mortimers 12mo,  Cloth  1  50 

The  Primrose  Path 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Son  of  His  Father 4to,  Paper  20 

The  Story  of  Valentine  and  his  Brother 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Wizard's  Son 4to,  Paper  25 

Within  the  Precincts 4to,  Paper  15 

Young  Mu.'igrave 8vo,  Paper  40 

O'MEARA'S  (Kathleen)  Xarka,  the  Nihilist 16mo  1  00 

ONE  THAT  WINS 4to,  Paper  20 

PAYN'S  (James)  A  Beggar  on  Horseback 8vo,  Paper  35 

A  Confidential  Agent 4to,  Paper  15 

A  Grape  from  a  Thorn 4to,  Paper  20 

A  Prince  of  the  Blood 16mo  75 

A  Woman's  Vengeance 8vo,  Paper  35 

At  Her  Mercy Svo,  Paper  30 

Bred  in  the  Bone Svo,  Paper  40 

By  Proxy Svo,  Paper  35 

Carlyon's  Year Svo,  Paper  25 

For  Cash  Only 4to,  Paper  20 

Found  Dead Svo,  Paper  25 

From  Exile 4to,  Paper  15 

Glow-worm  Talcs 4to,  Paper  20 

Gwendoline's  Harvest Svo,  Paper  25 

Halves 8vo,  Paper  30 

Heir  of  the  Ages.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  25 

High  Spirits 4to,  Paper  15 

In  Peril  and  Privation.     Illustrated 12mo,  Paper  25 

Kit.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper  30 


12  Harper  &  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 

PEiop; 

PAYN'S  (James)  Less  Black  than  We're  Painted 8vo,  Paperf  36 

Murphy's  Master 8vo,  Paper  20 

One  of  tlie  Family 8vo,  Paper  25 

The  Best  of  Husbands 8vo,  Paper  25 

Tlie  Canon's  Ward.     Illustrated 4 to,  Paper  25 

The  Luck  of  the  Darrells 12mo,  Paper  25 

The  Mystery  of  Mirbridge.     lil'd 8vo,  Paper  50 

The  Talk  of  the  Town 4to,  Paper  20 

Thicker  than  Water 16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00;  4to,  Paper  20 

Under  One  Roof 4to,  Paper  15 

Walter's  Word 8vo,  Paper  50 

What  He  Cost  Her 8vo,  Paper  40 

Won — Not  AVooed Svo,  Paper  30 

POWER'S  (Cecil)  Babylon  4to,  Paper  20 

Philistia 4to,  Paper  20 

PYLE'S  (Howard)  The  Rose  of  Paradise.     Illustrated Post  Svo  1  25 

READE'S  (Charles)  Novels  :  Household  Edition.     lU'd.  ...12nio,  Cloth, 

per  vol.  1  00 


A  Simpleton  anrf  Wandering  Heir. 

A  Terrible  Temptation. 

A  Woman-Hatcr. 

Foul  Play. 

Good  Stories. 

Griffith  Gaunt. 

Hard  Cash. 


It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 
Love  me  Little,  Love  me  Long. 
Peg  Woffington,  Christie  John- 
stone, &c. 
Put  Yourself  in  His  Place. 
The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 
White  Lies. 

Complete  Sets (14  vols)  12  00 

Half  Calf  36  00 

14  vols,  in  1.    7  00 

A  Hero  and  a  Martyr Svo,  Paper  15 

A  Perilous  Secret 12rao,  Cloth,  75  cents;  4to,  Paper,  20  cents; 

12mo,  Paper  40 

A  Simpleton Svo,  Paper  35 

A  Terrible  Temptation.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  25 

A  Woman-IIater.     lU'd ..Svo,  Paper,  30  cents;  r2mo.  Paper  25 

Foul  Play Svo,  Paper  30 

Good  Stories  of  Man  and  Other  Animals.     Illustrated... 4to,  Paper  20 

Illustrated r2mo.  Paper  50 

Griffith  Gaunt.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  30 

It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend Svo,  Paper  35 

Jack  of  all  Trades 16mo,  Paper  15 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long Svo,  Paper  30 

Peg  Woffington,  &c Svo,  Paper  35 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  35 

Singleheart  and  Doubleface,  &c.     Iliusttated 4to,  Paper  15 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth Svo,  Paper  35 

The  Coming  Man 32mo,  Paper  20 

The  Jilt.     Illustrated 32mo,  Paper  20 

The  Picture 16mo,  Paper  15 

The  Wandering  Heir.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  20 

White  Lies Svo,  Paper  30 

REID'S  (T.  Wemyss)  Gladys  Fane 4to,  Paper  20 

Mauleverer's  Millions 12nio,  Paper  25 

RIDDELL'S  (Mrs.  J.  H.)  A  Life's  Assize Svo,  Paper  40 

A  Struggle  for  F-.me , 4to,  Paper  20 


t>1 


16i   6.x. 
ANY  BOL 


